The Blood
by ModernNerd20
Summary: Starts in season one right after King Robert's death. Jaime Lannister discovers a young girl who may just be the key to ending the war he knows will soon follow his nephew's (son's) rash actions. The question is, what to do with her. While Jaime struggles to make a decision, the war rages on. How can the existence of one girl change the fate of the crown? SLOW BURN!
1. Chapter 1

**Full Summary: Starts in season one right after King Robert's death. Jaime Lannister discovers a young girl who may just be the key to ending the war he knows will soon follow his nephew's (son's) rash actions. The question is, what to do with her. While Jaime struggles to make a decision, the war rages on. How can the existence of one girl change the fate of the crown? SLOW BURN!**

 **This fic is just something that I've had on my mind while I re-watched GoT (for the 100th time!) There are soem changes to the plot, mostly when it comes to characters being in certain places at certain times, but for the most part follows the original timeline of the series. Although I've read the books, this story will only follow the TV show. I don't have an update schedule, just kinda doing what I can in my free time. Let me know what you think!**

Adelia had never thought of herself as a hateful person. She was normally a friendly, warm hearted girl. But today she felt hate. She felt it as strong as any man could, all directed towards Prince Joffrey's lapdog.

The Hound was known for his keen interest in violence. He was a ruthless and aggressive man. She tried to remember the way he looked the few times she had actually seen him. Once in the streets when he stopped by the butcher's shop on the King's bidding, an another when she had sneaked her way into the tavern with Micah. The Hound had sat alone at a table in the far corner, half hidden in the shadows. Adelia hadn't even been sure it was him until he turned his head towards the door and the firelight danced across the burned half of his face.

The sight of the scarred flesh had frightened her, made bile rise in her throat. It only added to his already intimidating persona. She wondered how it felt to know that every person that stands in your shadow is terrified of you. Surely he knows the unease he casts upon others. That night she remembered feeling badly for the man and the loneliness he must live with.

But over time, those feelings have faded into nothing but loathing. She hadn't seen them bring Micah's body back into town. She hadn't seen him laid to rest. But in her mind she could imagine the Hound's snarl as he cut the boy down. A boy against a man. Not a fair fight by any means. She was certain that the Hound had no reason to kill her friend other than the fact that thoroughly enjoyed killing.

She had known Micah nearly her entire life. Her mother, a skilled seamstress, often traded her talents for cheap meats from his father. Many nights, Adelia had come home to find her mother stitching an old pair of breeches or a tunic for Micah or his father. It wasn't uncommon for people to trade like this. It was a means of survival for those who were unfortunate enough to live in the Capitol. While they starved to death in the streets, their King and his court ate and drank their weight each night. They couldn't count on the royal family to keep them fed or keep clothes on their backs, so they relied on one another.

She and Micah had grown close, despite their differences in age. She was four years his elder, but he was oddly mature for a boy of thirteen. Adelia had nothing in the way of friends besides him. That had never bother her. She didn't need more than her mother and the Butcher's family. They had food, and clothes, and a place to lay their heads at night. That was all that mattered. Friendship was a luxury that many people never truly knew. They may think they do, but most mistake being taken advantage of for friendship. They give more than they receive, more often than not without even realizing. At least her mother and her knew that their trades with Micah and his father were even. It kept food on her table and clothes on his back.

But it had all been taken from her the night her friend journeyed home on the King's Road. The night that the wolf attacked the stag prince. The night that the Queen sent men out to search for Micah and the youngest Stark girl. Adelia had heard of the incident through whispers on the streets when the King and his court had arrived back in the capital. She had spent the next two days in her bed, tears streaking down her face. Her mother had gone to see Micah's father, but he never answered her knocks at his door.

"It'll be alright." her mother had hummed in her ear as she cried. But Adelia knew her mother cried too. She cried for Micah and for his father, because no parent should have to outlive their child. No father should bury his son.

Today, Adelia had no tears left to shed for her friend. She felt no sadness, no grief. Only hate as she stood at the steps of the Red Keep. Before Adelia's birth, her mother had been a seamstress to King Robert's army. She had worked day in and out to weave banners and cloaks for his loyal men. She had even met the king himself; before he was a king. Two days ago her mother had received a small scroll with scribbled instructions for her to help sew for the Red Keep. Although uncommon, the request was not unheard of. Over the years her mother's skills had been called upon three times. Usually when there was a large feast to be held and the castle seamstresses had too much work to do on their own. Those three times her mother had been gifted enough money to keep the two of them fed for months.

She had sewed and stitched until her fingers bled, and now, Adelia carried the fruit of her hard work in her arms. A mound of thin off-white sheets of clothes

She peered up at the grand doors, guarded by four knights in white cloaks. One of whom had a face that was half burned.

The disgust and hatred played obviously on her face, even though she knew it was dangerous to let it show.

"I'm here to deliver cloth on the behalf of Margaret Harton." She said, hearing her mother's voice in the back of her head. She must have told her at least forty times what to say. The man nodded and cast a glance over his shoulder to the Hound, who returned his nod.

"Come." he barked, strands of dark greasy hair falling over his disfigured features. With surprising grace he turned on his heels and strode through the doors, expecting Adelia to follow. She hesitated briefly, but went after him nonetheless. His legs carried him quickly through the halls, footsteps echoing all around them. She kept a good distance behind, staring at his armored back. The sword at his hip swayed back and forth, and for an instant she had the mind to pluck it from its holster and pierce him through the neck.

The thought was lost on her when four more armed guards swept past them in the narrow hallway, nearly knocking her off her feet. Their red cloaks flowed in the wind behind them, like the tail of fire.

"Careful girl." the drawled. She ignored him and looked after the men.

"They're running." she didn't phrase it as a question, but she couldn't help but wonder why. It was no business of daughter of a seamstress to be concerned with, and yet she watched them curiously. "Why?" she asked, not really expecting an answer. And she did not receive one.

They walked on for a few more moments before sighting another group of guards hurtling themselves down a nearby tunnel. She almost lost a hold of the cloths she carried as she whipped herself around to watch them. A young boy came panting up in front of the Hound, his blonde hair sleek with sweat.

"Clegane!" he wheezed. "The King…" the boy trailed off, catching sight of Adelia. He leaned in close to the the Knight and whispered the remainder of his sentence. The Hound's shoulders stiffened and he straightened his back to look down on the boy. It was a stare that would have shaken her to her core if she had been the recipient. The young boy, roughly her own age, seemed to be shaking and sweating a bit more than he had when he'd first approached. She couldn't blame him.

"Come, girl." The Hound huffed in a deep growl. He snatched her by the arm and started to drag her down the hall. Fear took over and Adelia pushed him away, but it was useless. He stood a good two feet taller and probably weighed three of her, she couldn't fight him. Visions of Micah flashed through her head. Was she about to the meet the same fate? Her free arm slapped at his shoulder, but the only harm fell on her hand as it made contact with his hard knight's armor.

All she intended to do was bring the damn rags to the Red Keep for her mother! Oh Gods, her mother! She sent a silent prayer to thank the old Gods that her mother had not been the one to come to the castle. If one of them were to die that day, she was glad it was her.

"Please Ser!" she didn't yell, but her voice was forceful. "Don't…" Don't what? She had no idea what was happening or why he had suddenly hauled her towards the nearest door.

"Shut up." he grumbled and flung the door open. The room beyond was a small bedchamber, no doubt for lower level guests. It held no more than a bed, a night table, and a bath. There was no light save for the little bit that dripped in through the murky window. The Hound forced her through the door with an unexpected shove.

"What…" she began, tears of fear stinging at her dark eyes. But he cut her off.

"Stay here." he slammed the door shut, leaving her utterly alone in the tiny room. "And stay quiet." he shouted through the thick wood. For a long second Adelia stood frozen to the stone floor beneath her feet. Her mind raced trying to understand how her situation had changed in the blink of an eye. One minute she was carrying a stack of medical cloths through the castle, the next she was locked in a closet sized room.

 _Locked_

Had he locked the door from the outside? Her heart clenched in panic as she dropped the cloths and reached out for the handle. She let out a sob of relief when the knob twisted in her hand and the door cracked open. Cautiously, she peered out, not daring to open the door more than a smidge.

A woman's scream came creeping to her ears. It was low at first, but it grew louder and higher until it was suddenly cut off with a gurgle. It was noise she had never heard before, but she knew exactly what it was. The sound of death. The sound of a life being snuffed out by another's hand.

People were dying. And by the steadily increasing flow of screams, she ventured to guess that it was a lot of people. She knew she should close the door, but her body had become paralyzed by the terror that snaked its way through her veins. Something terrible must have happened.

She was stuck in this damned castle. She had no friends, no allies to count on, no one to care if she lived or died besides her mother, who was nearly an hour's walk away in their meager home at the center of Flea Bottom.

The sound of boots pounding on the hard floor caught her attention and sparked her into action. She pulled her face away from the crack and pushed the door closed with her hands.

But the door swung back on her as a heavy body came crashing in. The air in her lungs was forced out as she was pummeled to the ground. The clank of metal on stone filled her ears, giving her an instant headache.

Something was on top of her.

Someone.

The large body struggled to get up, the heavy armor getting in the way. She rolled away from them and gasped for air. The person finally stood and towered over her. His eyes were light, like a blue sky with wisps of clouds streaked across. From what she could see in the dim light of the window his hair was a boyishly light brown.

"Don't hurt me!" she held her hands out in front of her and slid across the dirty floor, putting as much space between herself and the boy.

"Shhh." He hissed and then turned to quickly close the door behind him. He pressed his ear to the wood, trying to hear whatever was happening outside. "Did I hurt you?" he whispered after a few moments of silence. Adelia shook her head, unsure what to make of him. He didn't seem threatening. In fact, he seemed frightened.

"What's happening?" she asked hesitantly. He turned to face her and she noticed the small wolf embroidered in his chainmail.

"They've arrested Lord Stark." he said gravely.

"The Hand of the King?" she asked in shock. She didn't even know that it was possible to arrest the Hand.

"Yes." his head bobbed up and down. "They're killing all of the Stark men."

"And you are one of them." It wasn't a question, the wolf sigil had given away his loyalties. Although, how loyal could he be if he's in hiding. Some would call him a coward, but Adelia would call him smart. If she had been in his place, she too would have hidden herself away from the men trying to kill her. He nodded again, and pressed his ear back to the door.

What he heard startled him and he jumped back, cramming himself into the far wall where the small window hung. The door burst open once more to reveal three hulking men, all clad in Lannister colors.

"Stop!" one shouted as the others ran towards the Stark man, who was already halfway out the window. Adelia wondered what he planned do had he gotten all the way out. They were four stories high. The fall would have killed him. Maybe that was better than what he knew the Lannister's guards had in store for him.

They yanked him from the window and threw him hard onto the floor. When the boy looked up again, his lip and nose were smeared with blood. A large guard buried a boot into the boy's belly, earning a loud painful groan. She couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her mouth. Yes, the streets of Flea Bottom were plagued with violence, but she had always done her best to avoid witnessing it. She'd turn and walk in the other direction when she heard an argument, or close her eyes when two men began to brawl at her feet.

"The girl too." The Guard barked at his men. The one who had delivered the kick stomped towards her. Adelia flattened herself against the wall at her back, rambling on about having no involvement in whatever corruptions they would accuse her of. A large hand clamped around her arm, so hard that she knew it would leave marks on her skin for the days to come. She let out a cry and tried to pull herself free.

"Please, I'm just a seamstress." she pleaded with the man.

"A seamstress who's been conspiring with the Starks!" He boomed, laying a slap across her face. The skin of her cheek burned and fresh tears welled up from the sting.

How had this happened?

It had only been ten or so minutes that she had walked through the door of the Red Keep. How had things turned so badly so quick!?

"Erik." A new voice stopped the man before he could land another blow. The tears in her eyes made the world a blur of dark colors. She could see black and gray, red and white, but couldn't decipher where one color ended and another began. "Tell me, do you take pleasure from beating up little girls?" the newcomer asked lazily.

"Sorry Ser, we found her in here with the a Stark man. She tried to run." the man beside her lied, his grip became tighter around her arm.

"That's not true." she cried out and then snapped her mouth shut. Damn her and her big mouth. It was the one flaw her mother loved to point out over and over again. Adelia's inability to keep her mouth closed when it should be. The guard jerked her arm downward, bringing her to her knees.

"Tell me the truth girl. Are you here with the Stark's?" Someone asked the question but she still could not see who. Regardless, it made no sense to Adelia. Is she here with the Starks? Of course she wasn't. Did she look like a lady's handmaiden in her tattered dress and her dirt covered brown hair that was bundled messily atop her head? "Did you travel with the Lord Eddard Stark from Winterfell to the Capital?" the man asked again. His voice seemed almost uninterested.

"I… No I was born in King's Landing and I've never left." Her eyes had started to dry, the misty appearance of the room fading back into the clarity. The speaker came into focus as he leaned in the doorway, an elegant white cloak draped over his shoulders.

Though Adelia was certain she had never seen this man in person, she knew who he was. It wasn't the billowy golden hair or even the emerald green eyes that gave him away. No it was his uncanny resemblance to the Queen. They had the same nose, the same impossibly high cheekbones, the same thick pursed lips. The traits were signature Lannister characteristics. The type of traits that were often shared between siblings.

The type that were shared between twins.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaime rolled his eyes at the guard who brought the girl to her knees. It was obvious that she had nothing to do with Ned Stark's plan to overthrow the Lannister's rule. She was dressed in what he would describe as rags, although for a citizen of Flea Bottom her attire was quite normal. He watched her face contort in pain as he knees hit the castle's stone floor. Her dark eyes filled with water that threatened to streak down her cheeks.

"Well, you heard the girl," Jaime raised his brows at Erik. "let her go."

"Ser," on of the guards began to argue, but a sharp look made the protest die in his throat.

"Get her up." he said, looking back at the man with a death grip on the girl's upper arm. "And get him to the Queen." he nodded to the heap of a man on the ground. The girl was pulled to her feet. He noticed the red skin on her cheek from where the guard had slapped her. A small spec of blood trickled down from the corner of her lip. She glanced up at with eyes that reminded him of a doe just before she took an arrow through the heart. He could see the fear flash through them and her chest heaving up and down with heavy breaths.

"What's your name?" he asked, stepping further into the room.

"Adelia." she squeaked out. "Waters."

"Ah." the corner of his mouth tugged up into a smirk at the sound of her last name. "A bastard." He was only a foot or so away from her now, and even in the meager light he could make out her blush of embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he rounded on the other two guards. "Was I not clear when I said to take him to the Queen?" he cocked his head to the side, as though inviting them to challenge him. They quickly grabbed the man by the arms and dragged him out of the small room. Jaime turned his attention to the remaining guard and jerked his head towards the door. He seemed to take the hint and dropped his hold on the girl and followed after the others.

Jaime took his time looking her over. She intrigued him, which was quite the accomplishment for a lowborn girl. He had a lot of questions for her, like why in the seven hells was she in this shithole of a room with a shithole of a man? How did she get this far into the castle without an escort? And how did she stand to wear that sorry excuse for a dress?

And why did her face look so familiar to him?

"I'm very curious to know how you managed to get here." he told her, purposefully invading her space to see how she would react. If there was one thing Jaime Lannister loved more than his dear sister, it was testing limits. She squeezed herself against the wall behind her at his approach, and he revelled in her discomfort.

"I was bringing cloth to the…"

"Be careful who you lie to." he warned, watching her squirm under his gaze.

"I'm not a liar." she replied slowly, a small fire starting to smoke within her voice. "My mother was asked to provide extra cloths to the Grand Maester Pycelle." Jaime could actually hear her teeth grinding as she spoke. "She sent me to deliver." She gestured towards a pile of ugly cloths on the ground behind him.

He narrowed his eyes, not bothering to hide his skepticism. It didn't sound like Pycelle to look to an outsider, especially a lowborn from Flea Bottom. There were close to twenty seamstresses that lived within the castle walls. Was he supposed to believe that they weren't enough?

"And how did you get this far into the castle without an escort?"

"I had one." her eyes darted to the floor. "He threw me in here when a boy came to deliver a message to him."

"Who?" he asked, the words coming out much harsher than intended. He saw the girl jump slightly.

"I don't know, some boy with yellow hair and a red tunic." she stammered.

"No, your escort? Who was it? Where did he run off to?" he made it a point to keep his voice lower.

"Sandor Clegane."her eyes stayed trained on the ground.

"Ah, my nephew's little dog." he sighed. "And you told him of your purpose before he allowed you entry?" he inquired. The girl thought for a moment and then nodded. But he saw the glint in her eyes that told him he was only getting half of the truth. Jaime chose not to push the matter at the moment. He would get to the bottom of it when he next saw the Hound. For now, he pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his breeches and held it out to her; He was fully aware that there was a stack of cloths by his feet that he could have offered her instead of his silk embroidered handkerchief. "You're bleeding." he pointed to his lip and she dabbed at her own, staining his pearly white towellet. "Let's not keep the good Maester waiting." he motioned towards her discarded cloth and she was quick to catch on. He couldn't wait to see Pycelle try to explain her away.

Carefully, the girl bent at the knees to scoop up the pile. He stood aside to let her pass him but she hesitated.

"Is it safe?" she asked, eyes darting around the hall wildly. "Before, I heard… screaming." she was shaking her head as though she wasn't sure if the noises had been real or in her head. He had no doubt she'd heard the cries, possibly from one of Ned's men or his girls' handmaiden or their septa. Many had died that day on the command of his sweet sister.

"It is." He assured her. "Unless your loyalties lay with house Stark."Jaime added, but she shook her head vigorously. His lips curled into a smile and he urged her forward.

The halls were eerily silent as they walked; their footsteps the only sound to be heard. He assumed that the fighting had finished and that his sister had all the Starks in her presence by now. At least he hoped so. A small part of him hated her when she didn't get her way. The girl surprised him when she asked if the King was dead.

"Yes." he cast a sideways glance at her. "King Robert has passed." She looked sad, which amused him. "Did you know the King?" he laughed. "You seem utterly distraught by the news." He knew she didn't know Robert, how could she. And anyone who did know him certainly wouldn't miss the fat bastard. Besides Eddard Stark, that is.

"No." she admitted. "But my mother always told me stories of him. He's like one of the heros they wrote songs and poems about."

"Well, I assure you, he wasn't." Jaime rolled his eyes. Why did the common people like the fatman so much? She didn't respond and they walked the rest of the way to the Grand Maester's chambers. He knocked with a heavy hand when they reached his door.

"Ah, Ser Jaime." the old man greeted when he opened the door. "I would have thought you'd be down in the Throne room with your sister." His body hunched over, as though gravity were slowly pulling him closer and closer to the grave.

"I was on my way there when I heard quite the ruckus coming from a spare bedchamber." he smiled and turned to the girl. "That is when I found young Adelia." The Maester gave the girl a quick once over before turning his quizzical look onto Jaime. "She has a delivery for you." Jaime prompted. He knew instantly that Pycelle had not been expecting the girl.

"My mother, Margaret Harton, sent me in her place to deliver the fabric you ordered." The girl explained in a small voice. Jaime watched recognition flood into the Maester's face at her mother's name.

"Oh yes, of course!" he gave a small, and fake Jaime noted, chuckle. "Come in, dear girl. He stepped aside, allowing her access to his work chamber. "And thank you kindly good Ser, for seeing her to me." He made to close the door, but Jaime blocked it with his boot.

"Is it normal for you entertain all of the young women who deliver goods to your chambers, Maester?" he asked critically. Pycelle had always given Jaime and uneasy feeling. Only the Gods knew why his sister took such a liking to the old man. He watched as his aged and sunken eyes widened.

"No Ser, I… the girl…" He stumbled over his words.

"My sister can wait a while longer." Jaime smiled devilishly. "I think I'll stay and escort Miss Adelia back when you've finished." He could see the girl's mouth open with shock when he addressed her so properly. Without further discussion, he pushed his way through the threshold and plopped himself down on a nearby stool. With his legs crossed, he stared at the Maester expectantly.

The girl's eyes roamed over the room, eyeing each of Pycelle's medical instruments in turn. He wondered if she had ever met a healer before. What did the residents of Flea Bottom do when they were sick or injured? He honestly had no clue. Did they have their own type of Maester? Or did they simply suffer through or turn to home remedies?

"Certainly, certainly." Pycelle said as he made himself look busy by straightening the heavy metals that hung around his neck. Perhaps it was their weight that made his back hunch. Adelia stood perfectly still, rags still in her arms, while the maester hurried around the room trying to find a place for them. He noticed how her legs wobbled slightly, knees buckling every few seconds before she quickly regained her composure. She was nervous, and had every right to be. But at least she wasn't crying. Crying women always made him nervous.

"Pycelle!" an unmistakable voice found its way into the room. "Did the King's…" Petyr Baelish's sentence trailed off unfinished as he entered and caught sight of Jaime. His wary eyes flicked to Adelia for a second and then back to Jaime. "Our Queen has been asking for you, Ser Jaime." he said with the classic Baelish smile. The man reminded Jaime of a rat. A creature who was everywhere, but rarely noticed. He had been warned during the first war that Petyr Baelish was perhaps the most dangerous man in Westeros. But the man who had told him that had never heard the ramblings of the Mad King; never saw the danger that a fevered mind was capable of. Still, the rat made him wary.

"I'm sure she has." he replied lazily. Little Finger's gaze fell upon the girl once more. He took her in greedily, with an almost crazed glint in his mischievous eyes.

"Adelia Waters." he greeted. Jaime saw her take the tiniest of steps backwards, clearly uncomfortable that he knew her name. "You look… so much like your mother." His voice was soft and wistful. The girl's brows pulled together, causing wrinkles to appear on her forehead. "I had the pleasure of meeting her only a few months ago. Her reputation and talents precede her."

Jaime gauged her reaction carefully. Her dark eyes stared into Baelish with an intensity that he could practically feel. In the back of his mind he wondered what her mother looked like. Was her hair as dark as her daughters? Her eyes as well? What about her body? Was she thin like most low borns, or did she have meat on her bones like the girl before him?

He concluded, with mild interest, that if Adelia had handmaidens to clean the filth from her skin and dress her in something worthy of being called clothing she may actually be considered attractive. Not in the same way his sister was, but not completely awful to look at.

"What interest do you have in a low born seamstress, Lord Baelish?" Jaime asked with an easy smile. His tone implied that he cared little about the answer, but his ears were focused on the Lord's next words.

"Very little." Petyr shrugged. "But her mother has an unmatched aptitude for the womanly arts. And she is an exquisite beauty. Much like her daughter it would appear." another charming smile flashed towards the girl.

"Many used to argue that my mother stole me as a child we are so opposite in looks." the girl surprised them all by speaking. "Perhaps you have the wrong seamstress in mind, m' Lord." she added the last bit quickly.

"Perhaps I do." Baelish flickered his eyes up to Pycelle so quickly that Jaime was unsure if he had imagined it. What Jaime hadn't imagined was the small smirk that crossed the man's face. He knew that smirk. It was worn by any man who's devious plan was falling perfectly into place.

There was no doubt in Jaime's mind that Petyr Baelish had the right seamstress. No doubt that he had called upon Adelia's mother for a specific reason. No doubt that Adelia was the prize he sought.

The question was why.


	3. Chapter 3

Petyr Baelish smiled at her, and it caused her gut to clench in fear. There was something about the way his lips inched upward that screamed danger. Twice he had told her that she took after her mother. In spirit and mind, yes, she was definitely her mother's daughter. But where her mother had hair as red as a setting sun and eyes as blue as the summer sky, Adelia's was black as a crow and as dark as a wetstone.

Her mind raced as she sought an explanation. Though he had agreed that she had mistaken her for another, she could feel his lie in her chest. She began to feel hot as three sets of eyes trained onto her. Gods how she wished she could just scream and run from them all.

"Well, Littlefinger, if you are quite done with our honored guest, I'll have her back." Jaime Lannister said with a rueful grin plastered on his face. He stood and crossed the room. With smooth movements he took the pile of fabric from her arms and all but tossed it upon the stool from which he'd risen.

"Surely such a task is beneath you, Ser." Baelish stepped in front of the Kingslayer. "Allow me to escort the girl while you… tend to your sister." the words dripped with meaning that she didn't quite understand.

"You really are a snake, you know that?" Jaime whispered. "Anyone who catches your interest, is without a doubt worthy of my time." He blindly reached for her, not taking his eyes away from the man in front of him. His hand swiped against her arm and latched onto the sleeve of her dress.

"Do you think it wise to parade this one around the castle?" Baelish asked as Adelia was towed to the doorway. Jaime stopped for a second to cast a fierce glance at the men left behind but then gave her a soft push to continue forward.

She felt an overwhelming flood of relief once the Maester's door was out of sight. But far off cries reminded her that she wasn't free of the danger yet. The Kingslayer followed behind her, though he had let go of her sleeve. They walked in uncomfortable silence for some while. The castle walls dripped with moisture that slid leisurely down the cracks between the bricks. More hallways broke off along their walk, some smothered in complete darkness, others lit dimly with the flickering lights of torches. All were empty; every single one. If it weren't for the continuous far off yelps, she would have thought the entire castle empty.

Her thoughts fluttered to King Robert, and to his family. She had never known her father, but losing her mother was a constant nightmare that plagued her. Adelia's heart ached for his children.

Suddenly there was a sharp pain in her shoulder and she was wrenched backward into a dark conjoining hallway. Jaime's forearm came up against her neck as he thrust her back against the damp wall. Her head hit the stones forcefully enough to cause the edges of her vision to turn black.

"Tell me who you are." He hissed. His face was so close to hers that she could feel drops of spit splatter her skin. She tried to take in air, but it was stuck in her throat where his arm pressed. Her lungs burned as they were denied the fresh oxygen they so greatly craved.  
"I'm no one." she managed to choke out. Her hands pushed against his chest and arms frantic for breath. The metal of his chestplate was smooth and cool against her clammy palms. "Please!" she wheezed. Jaime let up his arm just enough to allow her a breath. Air rushed into her aching lungs throwing her into a fit of coughs. He granted her more freedom when he realized just how hard he'd been pinning her to the wall, and she seized the opportunity to aim a closed fist at his cheek.

He staggered backwards a few steps, completely taken aback. His hand came up to rub his face where the skin was quickly reddening and those bright green eyes stared back at her. A smug grin graced his lips.

"My sister would have you killed for that." he said on a humorless laugh. "Or at least chained up in a cell for the…" his voice froze on his tongue before he slumped to the ground.

Behind him stood Petyr Baelish, a small pointed needle squeezed between his fingers. Adelia's eyes widened in shock as she looked down at the knight and saw a small stream of blood trailing from his neck.

"You've killed him." she whispered, preparing herself for another fight. Baelish stood unnaturally still.

"I've merely put him to sleep." He said with a nonchalant shrug, as though this were a common occurrence. "Come with me, quickly." His hand was reaching out for hers, but she pulled away.

"No." she whispered. She scanned him from top to bottom. He was well dressed, with a long gown-like coat of a deep forest green. It hung around his ankles, sweeping the floor in spots. His boots were flat, not well padded or supported.

She could outrun him.

As soon as the thought popped into her mind, her feet were moving. She ran down the long underlit hallway, forcing her eyes to widen, hoping it would help her see in the dark. Littlefinger called out to her, but his words were too muffled to hear.

Her long legs carried her through the castle tunnels. She had no way of knowing which was the right way, which way would bring her home, but it didn't matter, she just needed to keep moving far away from Petyr Baelish.

As she rounded a corner a bright rainbow of reflected light burned her eyes, blinding her and forcing her to a stop and slip back into the darkness. When her eyes cleared she peered around the wall. Three heavily armored men stood huddled at the end of the hall, speaking in hushed and hurried whispers. The light from the window glinted off the metallic surfaces of their chainmail, casting small rainbows about the space.

She inched herself back and charged down another hall. Her hair started to come loose from the ribbon that held it on top of her head. Dark waves fell into her eyes and stuck to her forehead which was now slick with sweat. She could hear her blood rushing through her ear with each pump of her heart and her feet fell into rhythm with it.

Adelia's footsteps rang out through the otherwise quiet hall. Panicked, She ran through her memory trying to remember the direction the Hound had brought her. But it was no use, every inch of the damn palace looked the same! When she arrived at a hall filled with windows, she ran to the first one in the row.

The sun had started to set behind the sea, pitching the city into a soft pink glow. For a moment, she was stunned by the beauty as she looked out over her home. From this high up she couldn't see the rat ridden streets, or the mass of people who were sitting in their own waste outside of their lopsided homes. The city looked quite grand from the Red Keep, she couldn't deny that.

If she could look out and stare directly into the sea, then the doors of the castle must be in the opposite direction of which she was just running. She turned on her heels to take off once more, but collided with something hard and cool. The crash knocked her back onto her arse, an instant pain radiating through her tailbone and up to her neck.

She looked up at the giant of a man that she'd run into. Her breath caught when she saw not only the armor clad knight, but Baelish standing beside him. With a weak smile he said. "No need to run from me, Adelia. I'm quite possibly the only friend you have in King's Landing."

She scrambled to her feet, wincing as the nerves in her back screamed.

"I'm not who you think I am!" Adelia cried in frustration. Why couldn't he see that? Why couldn't he see that she was nothing, no one, just a lowly girl from Flea Bottom?

"But you are." his smile widened. "And I will explain it all to you once we are safely out of the city."

"Out of the city?" she backed away shaking her head. "I can't leave. I won't!" she said frantically. Baelish nodded slowly, his eyes softening.

"Shhh." he hushed gently as he cautiously reached a hand. "I know it's scary." his voice was low and reminded her of the way the butcher sounded whenever he spoke with Micah. "But you are in grave danger in this city, my lady. I want to keep you alive and unharmed."

Adelia stood frozen in place, watching his hand come to rest on her shoulder. His touch was light and she found an odd sense of comfort in it. Although his sly smile still lingered on his lips, she almost believed him.

Almost

"I can't leave my mother." she shrugged his hand away.

"Why do you think your mother sent you to deliver the fabrics for her today, Adelia?" he clasped his hands together in front of him and tilted his head while he watched her scrape her mind for an answer.

"She… I was…" she stuttered. Her breathing picked up speed as she realized that there was no real reason that her mother did not come to the Red Keep on her own. But that didn't mean anything! As her daughter it was Adelia's duty to do things for her mother, like prepare their meals or wash their clothes, or deliver the damn cloth to the castle.

"She knew what would happen here." Baelish said loudly. "She knew that this morning would most likely be the last time she saw you." Adelia was shaking her head, refusing to listen to his lies. Again he placed a small hand on her shoulder and spoke with an odd softness. "I wish we could make this easier dear girl, but the words are too dangerous to speak out in the open."

And with that, his hand shot up from her shoulder to her neck where she felt the quick stab of a needle. She pushed him away, eyes wide in horror and the image of Jaime Lannister lying unconscious in the darkened hallway flashed through her vision.

She felt her limbs grow heavy, her eyelids too weak to keep open, and before long, the hard stone floor was coming up to greet her.


	4. Chapter 4

**So the last time I posted a chapter it was the wrong one! I posted it as chapter 4 (this current chapter) but it was supposed to be chapter 5! So for anyone who read it I'm so sorry if anything was spoiled! hopefully I got to it quick enough for most of you (considering it was up for less than an hour).**

 **This chapter has a lot of conversation, but it's necessary to lay the background for the rest of the story! I promise some more Jaime/Adelia interaction next time!**

Jamie groaned as his eyes fluttered open. He heard voices around him but his mind wasn't centered enough to find the speakers. The hallway was darker than it had been moments ago… or was it longer than that? How long had he been asleep?

Littlefinger!

His muffled mind pulled forward the face of Petyr Baelish, and the memory of events came flooding back. He shook his head, as if by doing so he could clear it of whatever cloudy patches were left.

A pair of arms hooked themselves under his own and hauled him to his feet.

"Jaime!" a man said. Whoever had picked him up off the floor helped him to stand on his own before Jaime's focus finally locked in on the man in front of him.

"Tyrion?" he breathed, surprised by his own weakness.

"Looks like he's been pricked." someone said from close behind. Jaime turned his face to see his little brother's loyal sellsword, Bronn, holding him steady.

"Baelish." Jaime hissed grinding his teeth in frustration.

"You saw him?" Tyrion's eyes widened. "Where? Which way did he go?" he asked excitedly.

"I don't know." Jaime said trying to hide his irritation. "I'm afraid I was asleep when he left."

"You mean to tell me that Petyr Baelish stuck you with a sleeping draught?" his brother rubbed his chin with stunted fingers. Jaime nodded and rattled off his account of events. He told him of the girl and Littlefinger's fascination with her. The way he all but lit up when he noticed her and the small smirk he'd shared with Maester Pycelle.

"He's plotting something." Jaime finished.

"When is he not plotting?" Tyrion grimaced. Then to Bronn he said "Find the Spider." and he motioned for his brother to follow him in the opposite direction.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he watched Tyrion hobble down the hall.

"Baelish had a boat brought to the dock about an hour ago." he explained. "Varys came to me, fearing that the Master of Coin was planning to abandon our new king in the wake of his father's death. Let's go see what the slippery bastard is up to, shall we?"

Outside, the last remnants of the sun were fading, casting the world into darkness. Jaime couldn't hide his grin when they saw Littlefinger standing at the end of the dock, an unusually large crate at his feet. It was obvious that Baelish had not expected their company because he did a double take when he spotted them walking towards him. There were two young men rushing around him, carrying cases onto the small ship. On deck, more lads scurried about, preparing to sail away from the Capital.

"Leaving so soon, Lord Baelish?" Tyrion called once they were within earshot. Jaime, whose strides were three times that of his brother's, stormed angrily towards the man. Petyr took a worried step back, but his face remained unrevealing. "I heard you left my brother in a rather uncomfortable bed." He admired the way his brother was so slow to anger. Always so witty and composed.

"You son of a bitch." Jaime ground out through clenched teeth. His fists were clenched and he had the urge to hit the weasel, but he didn't dare ruin his chances at getting what he really wanted. "Where is she?"

"You mean Adelia?" he asked.

"What did you do with her?" Jaime seethed. "I swear by the old Gods and the new if you don't…"

"That's a rather large crate, my friend." someone interrupted. Jaime spun to find Lord Varys standing beside his brother. His golden robes hung loosely from his pudgy body, hands hidden inside wide sleeves. "One could hide many treasures in a box of that size." he nodded to the wooden box. It was roughly five feet long and three feet across.

Large enough for a body.

Baelish glared at Varys, eyes so dark and cruel that it sent a shiver down Jaime's spine. He did not envy the unic, for Littlefinger's revenge on his "friend" would certainly be long and painful.

"Open it." Jaime's mouth crooked up into a half smile as he gave the command. Petyr hesitated and began to speak, but Jaime knew better than to allow him to use his golden tongue to manipulate the situation further. "Let me say it again, Lord Baelish, open the crate or I will cut off your cock and shove it down your throat." he threatened, his voice barely more than a whisper. From the corner of his eye he saw the others lean in to try and hear the words. Baelish knew that he stood no chance against the Kingslayer.

He called for one of his squires to bring him a long metal bar. When the boy handed it to him, Jaime's hand automatically gripped the hilt of his sword. But Petyr jammed the flat end of the rod under the top of the crate and pried the wood apart. He made his way around the box until his squires were able to effortlessly lift the top. Jaime peered inside, as did Tyrion, Bronn, and Varys, all of whom had come to stand at the box's edge.

She was there, asleep on her side, hair a tangled mess around her face. Her eyelashes created dark crescent moons upon her cheeks, fluttering every so often with dreams. Jaime felt a small ping of relief when he saw no sign of blood or visible wounds. The hem of her old tattered dress was hiked halfway up her thigh, exposing the milky white skin of her leg and the scar that snaked it's way from her knee and up under the fabric. It was a ghastly sight, long and raised and pink. He'd venture to guess it was from a sword. He had left similar marks on many men, some enemies, some not.

"It's a sick man who drugs a little girl." Bronn broke the silence that had fallen over them. "Those whores you keep not enough?" there was ice in his voice.

"I'm saving her life." Baelish countered. Jaime regarded him carefully, searching for the slightest hint of a lie. But he found none.

"You and I are going to have a long talk, Lord Baelish." He snatched the metal rod from his hand threw it into the water. With an arm around Littlefinger's shoulder he continued. "And when we're done, I'll decide if my dear sister and nephew need to hear of this unsuccessful kidnapping."

"I wasn't kidnapping." he huffed, like a small child being blamed for the tricks of his sibling.

"She's a pretty little thing." Jaime nodded down at the sleeping girl. "Did you plan to sell her? As a whore or a slave?" Baelish opened his mouth again but Jaime spoke over him. "Be careful how you answer, only one of those things is a crime."

"I'll have Bronn bring the girl back to her home, once she wakes." Tyrion hadn't taken his eyes off the girl.

"No." Jaime said quickly. "No, she's important, and Lord Baelish is going to tell me why over a nice cup of wine." he shook the Lord lightly, as though they were old friends. "So until I understand why on earth the Master of Coin was willing to risk his life and honor to steal her away, I want her kept close." he eyed Bronn. "Take her to my chambers and have the handmaidens clean her up." Tyrion raised his eyebrows at the inappropriateness of the command, but Jaime ignored him. "Do not let my sister or her an of the King's Guard see you, do you understand?"

"Aye," Bronn nodded. "I'll do it." The four men stood and watched as Bronn bent down and scooped the girl's limp body into his arms.

"If anyone questions you…" Jaime started but Bronn cut him off with a grunt.

"No one will see us."

Jaime and Tyrion sat opposite from Varys and Baelish at the small round table in Tyrion's chambers. It was the only safe place for them to speak without being overheard. No one would venture up this far, especially with the castle in such disarray after Robert's death and the arrest of Lord Stark. Varys sat still as stone, it made Jaime uneasy. Petyr on the other hand was fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. A nervous gesture.

"What is her importance?" Jaime took a sip from his cup. The sweet wine wetted his lips, leaving them red and cool. He had decided to take a direct approach with his questioning. No time for beating around the proverbial bush. He had questions, and Baelish would answer. Or else Jaime would cut off his fingers and leave him only his pinkies; giving weight to the name Littlefinger.

"I find it strange that you have not figured it out yourself." Baelish said on a laugh. "Three of the brightest minds in the Capital sit before me and not one of you has the mind to piece together the puzzle."

"Do you ever tire of playing these games?" Varys shook his head.

"She's a seamstress." Jaime let his thoughts take shape aloud. "A lowborn from Flea Bottom. Her mother's a seamstress, apparently one of great skill."

"Yes, Margaret Harton had the chance to be a seamstress in the castle many years ago. Just after Robert's rebellion." Petyr's face showed pure excitement. He loved knowing more than anyone else in the room.

"But she declined?" Tyrion asked incredulously. "Why would anyone give up a room in the castle for a hut in Flea Bottom?" Jaime hadn't thought of that.

"She was with child." Baelish smirked.

"All the more reason for her to seek a proper home." Varys cut in.

"Adelia Waters was born six months after Robert took the throne." the smirk on Petyr's face was a full fledged smile now.

Jaime remembered the day the rebellion ended. Robert and Ned had come bursting through the Throne Room doors, two hulking men covered in their enemy's blood. And there he had sat upon the cold hard Throne, the Mad King dead on the ground in front of him. He recalled the look on Eddard Stark's face when he'd seen him. You would have thought Jaime had just butchered a flock of orphans. But Robert had laughed and clapped him on the back in praise.

"She's a bastard." Tyrion gasped.

"It's Flea Bottom, most of them are." Jaime said with growing impatience. But Petyr raised his eyebrows and lifted his chin, encouraging Tyrion's train of thought.

"She was asked the leave the castle, wasn't she? Margaret, I mean." he asked, and Baelish nodded ruefully. "Asked by the Queen?" another nod. "Gods." he breathed.

"I'm not sure I understand." Jaime confessed. His eyebrows were pulled together in confusion as he looked around the table.

"As the Master of Coin, it is my duty to account for every cent that flows in and out of these castle walls. Months ago I noticed a reoccurring large sum of money goes missing every few months. Nothing drastic to a king, but life changing to a lowborn." Baelish went on, ignoring Jaime's ignorance. "As I dug deeper, my spies found the money going to a seamstress in Flea Bottom. Imagine my surprise I go for a visit and discover that I am not the first visitor from the King's Small Council to visit the home of Margaret Harton. Jon Arryn had been there no more than a month ago."

Jaime stiffened. Realization beginning to dawn on him. His sister had told him that the Hand had discovered Joffrey's true lineage; both Jon Arryn and Ned Stark and taken up an inquiry. It's what had gotten Lord Arryn killed. What has gotten The Warden of the North arrested.

"She's Robert's bastard." He said solemnly.

"The rightful heir to the Throne." Baelish nodded. Jaime glared at him, but decided not to argue. It was no secret to anyone in the room who fathered the three Baratheon children.

"You're certain of this?" Varys seemed nearly at loss of words. His face and bald head had gone pale with shock.

"She has the mark." Petyr said as though it were the answer to end all questions.

"What mark?" Tyrion scoffed.

"The ghost's kiss. Same as our King had." Baelish looked back and forth between the three men, all of whom looked utterly confused. "In _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms_ it confirms that Robert indeed had a white birthmark on the backside of his left arm. Adelia Waters has a similar mark. It's often referred to as a Ghost's Kiss, but it's merely a birthmark."

"Are they the only two in the city with a mark?" Jaime asked skeptically.

"Does Joffrey bare the mark?" Baelish snapped. "Does Tommen or little Marcella?"

"Careful." Jaime warned, but it fell on deaf ears.

"It doesn't matter if a hundred others have the mark. She does and Robert's 'children' do not. It's more than enough to send your sister after the girl's head. She's a threat to your son." He slammed a fist onto the table, making the cups jump. "Leaving the city is the only way she lives!" Baelish took a deep breath and steadied himself while the others stared, eyes wide. "She knows nothing of this, and if it remains that way, she will be no threat if she's halfway across the world."

Jaime thought it over as quickly as his mind would allow. The girl was Robert's trueborn daughter, the true heir to the Iron Throne. Joffrey was not. Yet, Joffrey was HIS son, he was his blood, his to protect. But not even a fool could find a shred of good within the boy. He was a monster, no better than the Mad King. Aerys Targaryen had been Jaime's to protect as well. And in the end it had been Jaime who thrust a sword through his back; and then slit his throat for good measure.

Sending the girl across the Narrow Sea would keep her at bay, but she'd still be within reach of any who find out who she truly is. Sellswords and assassins would find her in the night and snatch the life from her. The thought made a rock form in Jaime's stomach. He could push a boy from a tower, slaughter countless men in battle, but putting the bastard daughter of the fat arrogant king in danger sickened him? He inwardly cursed himself.

"Send a raven to Jeor Mormont. We'll send her to the Wall." he said with a bite of finality.

"The Night's Watch doesn't take women." Baelish snickered.

"Do you take me for a fool, Lord Baelish?" Jaime hissed, but continued before he could get an unwelcomed answer. "Tell Mormont to make room for her in the kitchens. Tell him that it is the King's command. The Night's Watch is the safest place for a royal bastard. Have you forgotten that there's a Targaryen that still speaks and breathes at the wall." Then he added with a great heave of a sigh. "I'll take her there myself."


	5. Chapter 5

**HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

Adelia's eyes fluttered open when she felt the bed beneath her sink downward. Her body felt tired and heavy, and she was annoyed about being rustled from such a good sleep. For a second she let herself snuggle deeper into the thick blanket and nestle her head into the feathery pillow. Just a few more minutes of sleep was all she asked.

"Get up."

The voice cracked like a whip in the silent room bringing her to reality. Her eyes flew wide open and she lifted her head to find Jaime Lannister sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at her. The events of earlier that day flooded back to her.

Lord Baelish.

He had done something to her. The same thing he had done to Jaime. He'd pricked her with a needle and it had put her to sleep! But for how long? And for what purpose? To take her away?

"Where are we?" Her voice was thick with sleep.

"Still in the capitol." he assured her. Even with all her other questions, she felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders. Adelia let her eyes fall closed in relief, but only for a moment. Then she steeled herself to face the man again. "Do you know who I am?" he asked offhandedly, as though it had just occurred to him that she might not. She nodded in response and he seemed relieved.

The room was large and lavish, the opposite of the first bedchamber she'd been in. Across from her was a table that could seat two people, but two more chairs were stacked in the corner. A fire glowed within the stone pit on the far wall, casting shadows that danced throughout the rest of room. There was a small dresser and a tub that was slightly visible behind a large privacy screen. The bed was large with four high posts, one in each corner. And the furs that covered her were gray and white wolfskins, the warmest and softest she's ever felt.

She looked down to further inspect the furs and suddenly realized that she was no longer in her own dress. The one she wore left her shoulders bare and had a loose neckline that fell just below her collarbones. It was made of dark red material that felt lighter than her own skin. It was beautiful, and expensive. Her eyes snapped up to his, filled with rage and accusations, but he put up a hand to quiet her before she could speak.

"I had handmaidens draw you a bath and fetch you fresh clothes." He said. "I never touched you." She could have scoffed and shown him the tender, and probably bruised, flesh of her neck where his armor had pressed into her, but she didn't. Instead she asked;

"Why are you doing this? Why won't anyone let me go home?" she fought back tears, refusing to cry again.

"I have a few questions for you."

"I'm expected to answer your questions while every one of mine goes unanswered?" she grimaced and tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down.

"Tell me what you know of your mother and father." he demanded.

"I've told you all already!" she cried. "My mother's a seamstress in Flea Bottom. I'm a bastard. Never met my father and my mother never really speaks of him." she tried to sit again, but his hand pushed into her chest and forced her down. She hated lying there under his intense gaze while he towered above her. And he must have known it because he was unwilling to let it change.

"Never _really_ speaks of him?" He stressed the word.

"Sometimes she says that I remind her of him, but that's it. I swear!" she pleaded. If she cooperated, could she go home? "What does it matter anyway?"

"Show me your mark." he said, ignoring her last question. She shook her head.

"My mark? I don't have a …"

"The one you showed Lord Baelish." he cut her off. She still shook her head in confusion. "The white mark. The Ghost's Kiss." he prompted. She understood what he meant, but still…

"I never showed…" she trailed off as realization set in. She hadn't shown Lord Baelish her birthmark. If he'd seen it then he had found it on his own… which means…

The tears she'd fought so hard to force down came racing to the surface once more. Her lower lip quivered and her stomach twisted into a knot. She looked away from Jaime in embarrassment.

"Show me." his voice was softer this time, but still stern. She felt so violated, so humiliated, so angry. She wanted to hurt Baelish, just as she'd wanted to hurt the Hound. A sword right across his throat, maybe through the eye. Adelia must have been shaking her head because she heard him take an angry breath. "You can either show me, or I swear I will strip you bare and find the damn thing myself."

She froze, stunned by the severity of his tone. The thought of being stripped down, again, made her breathing turn ragged and quick. With a shaking hand she reached under the blankets to grab the hem of the nightgown. Being careful to keep the covers in place over her lower body and most of her stomach, she brought the dress up to just under her breast. She knew he'd be able to see the small patch of skin that was paler than the rest.

Ghost's Kiss was the term that people used for those who were plagued with a white birthmark. It was unnatural and most regarded it as a curse. She'd never paid much attention to the stories, but now she wondered if they were true. A curse would explain the situation she now found herself in.

Jaime's hand came up and pulled the blankets down another inch for a better view. Her breath hitched and she squirmed under his touch. But he shushed her and made no attempt to pull them down any further, so she stilled again. Her heart pounded so rapidly against her chest that she was certain he would be able to hear its beat. The closeness, the intimacy of his hand on her ribcage, it made her more uncomfortable than Lord Baelish's devilish stare. His callused thumb traced over the pale skin, as though he were trying to wipe it from her body.

"Well I'll be damned." he whispered and grabbed the hem of the dress to pull it back down over her ribs. "Who would have thought that the snake was telling the truth." he pressed his lips into a firm line. His eyes stared into the air like his mind was elsewhere. He blinked and looked back down at her. "You're going to the Wall."

The words didn't make sense. They sounded wrong on his tongue, wrong in her ears. The Wall? Why would she go North to the Wall? What could the Night's Watch have to offer her? Why was everyone trying to make her leave King's Landing. It was her home!

"You won't be able to go home and pack." he continued. "Though I assume you don't have much of anything to begin with."

"Stop." she whispered and shook her head.

"We'll leave as soon as it's safe. I'm hoping it won't be a long wait. As soon as my brother comes up with a plan to get us out of…"

"Stop." Her voice was loud and commanding, finally grabbing his attention. His eyes found hers, his brows raised high in surprise at her outburst. He looked… amused. Which only fueled her anger. "I'm. Not. Leaving." she said slowly. Jaime threw his head and let out a low laugh.

"Okay. Stay here, it really makes no difference to me whether you live or die." He stood up. "I can promise you that you'll be dead within the fortnight if you go home."

"Why?" she yanked her dress down to her knees and shot up, kneeling on the bed. "No one has told me a damn thing, but you all seem to think that I'm marked for death! Just tell what in the seven hells is going on!" A strand of hair clung to her lip as she spat the words out at him. Jaime let his head fall back with his eyes on the ceiling. He released a long sigh.

"The less you know, the better. I'm doing you a favor really."

"I don't believe that!" she shouted in frustration. His head snapped back to her and his hand clamped down around her mouth. Adelia scuttled back on the bed, trying to get away from his hands.

"Are you trying to wake the whole castle?" He asked. She swatted at his hand, eliciting a sharp hiss from his mouth. Something in his eyes changed, like a storm cloud rolling over green pastures, darkening the world. It terrified her.

Suddenly, his hand was around her wrist, the tips of his fingers painfully digging into her flesh.

"That's the second time you've hit me." his glare was unrelenting. She twisted her arm to get control back and let out a whimper of pain. Jaime didn't release her, but he relaxed his grip. "It won't happen again."

"Then stop hurting me." she breathed. "And tell me what's going on." There was a long silence that hung between them. Jaime's eyes moved about her face searching for something. He seemed to be struggling over what to say next/

"You're a bastard." his voice was much calmer than she'd expected. She scoffed in irritation.

"I already know that."

"You're the King's daughter." He said curtly. She started to laugh but swallowed it when he showed no signs of humor.

"No." she shook her head in disbelief. That wasn't possible. Her mother was a seamstress. King's didn't lay with seamstresses. "My mother…"

"Lied to you." Jaime finished her sentence. "I'd bet a hundred gold coins that she was a whore. A well paid one at that. The King has been lining her pockets up to the day he died." It crossed her mind to hit him again, but she realized that he still had his hand encircling her wrist. "Do you think a King would bed a lowborn unless she was a whore? Not even a Knight would bed someone from Flea Bottom."

"But they see no problem bedding their sisters?" The words were out before she could stop them. Everyone in the city knew who kept the Queen warm at night, and it wasn't the king. Her body tensed in anticipation of the smack that would follow such an insult. But it never came. Instead, he smiled.

"You've got a sharp tongue." he nodded. "If only your mind wasn't so dull. Maybe then you'd understand why being King Robert's trueborn child is so dangerous." Another moment of silence passed.

She didn't believe him. Or rather, she didn't want to. But there was a small part of her mind that told her it was true. It would explain why her mother had always seemed to obsess over their privacy, never letting anyone (Besides the Butcher and Micah) get close to them. And why she had discouraged Adelia from making conversations with anyone while they were out at the Market. And why she'd never allowed her to have anything in the way of friends.

Adelia had never had an issue with the quiet and private life that they lived. In fact, she preferred it. Flea Bottom was a dangerous place, it was normal for people to keep to themselves. But maybe her mother had other reasons for keeping them so isolated.

And then there was the money. Adelia had always just thought it a result of her mother's skilled hands. She was good at her job, so she was paid well. But even for a talented seamstress, they'd had more money and food than any of their neighbors, which was just enough to keep their bellies full and their nights warm. She had never once thought to question where their money came from, happy to believe it was from the silks and cottons her mother sold at the Market.

"I can see your mind spinning." Jaime's voice pulled her back to the present. "Don't be stupid. Don't fight us while we try to save your life." He stood up and looked out the window. "You'll stay here, stay hidden, until we can leave."

"If I'm really in so much danger, isn't too dangerous to stay in the damn castle?" She countered, thinking that she had undermined his foolish plan. But he didn't seem bothered as he leaned down towards her and showed a dazzling smile.

"The King's castle is the very last place anyone would look to find a bastard." he smirked and started to turn away.

"And the Wall?" she said quickly before he could leave.

"It's the only place in Westeros where the Crown has no power. That makes it the only place in Westeros where you'd be safe."

"But safe from what? From who?" she pleaded, still not understanding why being the King's bastard means she needs to leave her home. King Robert had many bastards, and none of them were being swept away.

"From my sister."

He didn't wait for her response before he slid out of the room, his white cloak sweeping behind him. Adelia took a long breath and held it in. Her world was changing, being flipped upside down. And if she didn't change with it, it would kill her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hope the first 10 days of 2017 have been kind to everyone! I'm beyond excited about the positive feedback I've been receiving for this fic! Please keep it coming and feel free to message me with any ideas you may have for this story or for another story you'd like to see written. I'm always looking for more inspiration!**

Jaime let himself gulp down another cup of wine while his brother rattled off his master plans. Bronn reached out to take the wine jug from Jaime's hand and topped off his own glass. There was a young boy standing in the corner, Tyrion's squire Jaime assumed. Still, he didn't like the idea of speaking so openly with the boy present.

"Shouldn't this conversation be a bit more… private?" He said the last word with a pointed look towards the squire. Tyrion sipped his wine.

"Oh Pod?" he smiled. "I trust him more than I trust my own sister." he fell into a drunken fit of laughter. Bronn and Jaime shared a look as the sellsword raised his eyebrows and took another swig of his drink. The three, well four, of them had spent the last half hour conversing about their plans for the girl.

"I still don't see why that that little prick was so keen on rescuin' her." Bronn said between sips. "What good is she to him?"

"I've never known Littlefinger to do anything out of the goodness of his twisted little heart." Jaime admitted, stumped by the thought as well.

"It's clear as day." Tyrion laughed again. "Baelish wants to store her away and use her when it best suits him. He planned to get his claws in her, build her trust, gain her loyalty. When the time comes, he'd bring her forward to claim the throne and he'd have almost complete control of her the Queen of Westeros. Or he'd marry her himself, become King, and we'd all be belly deep in shit." When no one spoke he continued with a wave of his hand. "For the time being, as long as she stays out of sight I'm in no rush to risk our lives by sneaking her off."

"You would be if she was hiding in your room." Jaime muttered.

"No, I can assure you brother, I would not." Tyrion flashed a wicked smile and filled his goblet to the brim with the crimson liquid.

"So we're to leave her in my chambers, caged like cattle for days, even weeks?" Jaime sat up straight in his chair. "It's just as dangerous to hide her away right under Cersei's nose as it is to cart her out of the city. She needs to be gone, soon!"

"Bronn," Tyrion turned towards his friend. "Tell my brother what happens when one rushes through plans of secrecy and deception?"

"You get fucked." the sellsword shrugged as if it were common knowledge.

"Exactly." Tyrion nodded and leaned his elbows on the table. "Now usually I love a good fucking, but in this case…" he trailed off and gave a long pause for effect. "We must use extreme caution with this one Jaime. If anyone sees this girl leaving the capitol with a well known Knight like you, they're going to ask questions. And anyone who knew Robert in his prime would have to be an idiot not to see the resemblance at once."

Jaime thought about that and decided his brother was right. When he had first seen the girl, she had looked oddly familiar. Now he realized that she reminded him of Robert, before he became a fat drunk.

"She's not stupid, our sister." Tyrion continued on. "She's quite possibly the largest cunt I know, but she's not stupid. She knows the type of man she was married to. She knows he has legitimate children crawling all throughout the city. " Tyrion's voice was steadily growing louder from the wine. or the excitement Jaime couldn't tell. "Cersei had her fingers in every aspect of the King's life, do you think there's even the slightest chance that she doesn't know about the girl?" he laughed. "Especially if Robert was sending money to her mother?"

There was no doubt in Jaime's mind that with Joffrey King, Cersei would do everything in her power to ensure that no one threatens his reign. Especially one of Robert's bastards. And Gods know there were plenty of them. The man couldn't keep his cock out of any woman within twenty feet of him.

Tyrion was also right in thinking that their sister would go to any length to ensure their son remained King. This girl was a threat, even if she didn't know it yet. She belonged on the Iron Throne, not Joffrey, and if the people were to discover that truth…

"Maybe we should let her go home." Jaime said with hesitance. He began to regret his involvement in this scheme to save the bastard. If he sent her home to Flea Bottom, Cersei would send her guards after her, not just her, all the bastards in King's Landing that could claim a right to the crown. He knew his sister would have the bastards hunted down. He knew it not only because Tyrion had suggested she would take that course of action, but because she was his twin. They had shared a womb, shared a love that no others could possibly understand. He knew his sister as he knew himself.

"Your bitch of a sister will have her head taken off. Along with her half brothers and sister throughout the city." Bronn raised his eyebrows, which he did irritatingly often.

"I'm not arguing that point." Jaime stared at the man. "You've said it before, she's a threat to the crown. The crown that House Lannister now holds." he looked at Tyrion directly. "Besides, King's Landing is ridden with bastards, why should we be concerned with the life of one?"

"So we send the poor girl home to die?" Tyrion tilted his head. He knew Jaime was an honorable knight, despite what the rest of the realm seemed to think of him. He wouldn't, couldn't, condemn an innocent girl to death. But there was more to this than just a girl.

"You're willing to put our family in jeopardy for some lowborn girl?"

"Tell me Jaime," Tyrion blinked "if you're born with King's blood running through your veins, are you still considered to be lowborn?"

"You're considered lowborn when you're born without money, land, or title, and share your with sewer rats." Jaime sneered, annoyed that his brother was being so difficult. "I want her gone soon." he said to his brother. "I won't wait weeks, I won't even wait days. I want her gone." he repeated, not sure what else to say.

"Podrick will squire for you until we come up with a plan. A foolproof plan." Tyrion sighed. "I'll have one of Sansa's hand maidens come and tend to the girl. No one else will have need to enter your room."

Jaime said nothing, but nodded to his brother and walked out into the hall. He wanted nothing more than to lay in his bed and sleep away the anger and stress of the day. Or perhaps soak away his troubles with a scorching bath. But neither of those were possible with Robert's bastard in his chambers. He wondered idly if she was awake or if she had fallen back to 'd been struck with the same sleeping drought Baelish had used on him. Nightshade was a dangerous drug if it was used incorrectly. Too much and you'd fall into a sleep you'd never wake from. Even now he still felt drowsy.

He realized that he was walking without purpose. He could go to the throne room and find his sister. He cringed at the idea but strode towards the great room nonetheless.

By the time he got there, Ned Stark had already been taken to the dungeons, and his men's blood covered the floor. Joffrey sat, one leg crossed over the other, on the Throne forged from a thousand swords. The golden crown blended into his hair, making it almost difficult to tell where the metal ended and his hair began. There was a smile on the boy's face, a wicked smile that caused Jaime's stomach to flip.

Sandor Clegane stood to his left, hands clasped behind his back. His burned face stared stoically into the crowd that had amassed in front of them. The girl said that it had been the Hound who had escorted her through the castle. Did he know who she was? Clearly not because if he did, Joffrey would have already called for her head.

It was then that Cersei's head spun to him, like she felt him walk in. It wasn't absurd to think that she hadn't. Many times Jaime remembered… feeling… his sister. Once when they were children she had fallen off her horse while he was studying with his father. He knew something was wrong minutes before a guard burst in to inform Tywin. She motioned for him to come closer.

"Where have you been?" she hissed under her breath. Joffrey was receiving praise from almost every Lord in the capitol.

"With Tyrion." he half lied. "We were toasting to our dearly departed King." A smirk inched its way onto Cersei's beautiful features.

"Yes, my poor husband." she sighed deeply, then looked to her son. "Let us pray that this King sees more name days than the last." Her voice was rather thick, almost like she was close to tears. For Robert's loss, or Joffrey's gain? "Where is the little beast, anyway? He should come greet his new King." her eyes fell on Jaime again.

"He's in his chambers." Jaime thought of Tyrion and Bronn drinking at the table. "It's probably for the best that he wait until tomorrow to meet with the new king. When he's sober."

He hated the way his sister loathed their brother. Jaime had always found Tyrion to be quite entertaining. Not because of his deformities, but because of his quick wit and wild tongue. Cersei and their father blamed him for the death of their mother, which Jaime though unfair of them. Tyrion was a babe, and women died during childbirth often.

"Drunken little pig." Cersei snapped, her focus back on Joffrey. She stared at him thoughtfully, her eyebrows knitted together in worry. "We need to protect him." She said with urgency. "We need to help him rule, Jaime." He nodded, even though she couldn't see him beside her.

"I know." he said softly wanting so badly to put his hand on hers, but he didn't dare with so many eyes on them. Instead, he let his hands come together at his back, just like the Hound.

For the next half hour, he stood motionless and watched their new King at work. He couldn't help but notice the sadistic little smile that he wore whenever he made a particularly cruel decision or comment. It was no secret that the boy was a bit… touched. And as he sat on his Throne, Jaime couldn't help but see the Mad King in his place. It sickened him and brought bile to his throat.

Cersei was too occupied by her son to notice him back away from her. His face was hard and expressionless, but his mind was flashing through images of Aerys Targaryen. The blood of innocent men, women, and children covering the throne room. Orders being shouted out to no one in particular. Ruthless orders, senseless ones that resulted in more dead bodies. Jaime had known that it wouldn't end. He knew that no one in King's Landing, in all of Westeros, would be safe under the Mad King's rule. He was...mad.

Jaime hurried back to his chambers, all the while pictures of Aerys and Joffrey ran across his mind, finally blurring into one.

When he finally reached his door, he stood idly outside. Once or twice, his hand reached for the knob, but each time, it fell back against his side. With a sigh, Jaime rested his forehead against the cool oak door. There was no noise from within, but he had expected that.

Quietly, he pushed the door open one inch at a time. The room was just as he had left it… almost. He noted the embers that slowly flicked in the hearth, and a serving tray that lay on the table. Tyrion must have sent his squire to bring her food. But judging from the full plate of bread and corn, she hadn't eaten.

She was still in the bed, covers drawn up to her chin and eyes shut in sleep. A mess of brown hair surrounded her in tangles that would be a pain in the arse for the poor handmaiden his brother sent. She slept peacefully, her eyes flicking every so often underneath her lids, but otherwise still as stone. Jaime envied was the one thing he wanted most of all in that moment.

As he watched her, the resemblance to his brother by law became more prominent. It was strange for Jaime to see. Although the King had never been his favorite, he had always respected the man's strength and passion.

Robert had led a rebellion against the Mad King, and won. Would she do the same? Would she one day rise up and overthrow his son?

"Shit." Jaime breathed to himself. He had seen the damage a King, especially one with a mind like his son, could inflict. This girl was a threat, that much was clear. But she could also be their savior.


	7. Chapter 7

For two days Adelia had been held prisoner inside the Red Keep, although Jaime had insisted several times that she was, in fact, not a prisoner. But Adelia couldn't disagree more. True, a young man brought her food and wine each meal time, and she had fresh clothes each morning when she woke up, but the door was still locked. By definition, didn't that make her a prisoner?

She hadn't seen Jaime since the time he had made the absurd accusation that she was the bastard daughter of King Robert.

Was it truly so unbelievable? The more Adelia thought on it, and she certainly had nothing else to do, the more sense it made. And regardless of if it were true, If Cersei Lannister believed that she was a threat to her son's crown, then the danger was grave. That realization was enough to keep Adelia from breaking down the door and drawing unwanted attention to herself. If she was going to get out of here alive, it had to be done strategically. She had to wait for the opportune moment when she could sneak out without being noticed.

In the last two days Adelia had had communication with no one besides the young boy she assumed was the Kingslayer's squire. A few times she had tried to speak with him, but he never did much more than nod or shrug. So today when he walked through the door, Adelia was determined to get a word out of him.

"Have you worked for the Kingslayer long?" she blurted out as he set a lunch tray onto the table. His anxious eyes flicked up to hers briefly.

"I do not work for Ser Jaime, my Lady."

"Don't call me that." she said quickly. Although the dress she wore was nicer than any stitch that had ever been on her body, she knew she carried an even lower status than the boy.

"Sorry, my La…" he trailed off when he caught sight of her expression.

"And don't apologize." he shook her head. "If you don't work for him then who do you work for?" she asked, not expecting him to answer. "Surely you're someone's squire."

"Lord Tyrion, My Lady." he said. "My apologies." he added after she scowled at the way he addressed her.

"The Imp." Adelia said thoughtfully. She had heard many stories of him, some good, but mostly bad. He was described as a monstrous being. A man's head on an infant's body, who may or may not have claws for fingers. "He knows I'm here." she wasn't asking. If Lord Tyrion's squire was tending to her, then of course he was aware of her presence in the Keep.

"Yes." The boy replied curtly as he finished fiddling with the contents of the tray.

"I want to speak with him." she used the most demanding tone she could muster.

"My Lady, I don't… I can't…" he stammered and she realized that he was nervous, scared even.

"What's your name?" She asked, coming around the side of the bed to stand in front of him. Now that she was off of the raised platform where the bed sat, she noticed that he was actually quite tall.

"Podrick." he swallowed. "Payne."

"Podrick." she said his name slowly. "All I'm asking is for a few minutes with your Lord. Please help me."

Adelia knew that her chances of appealing to Jaime for her release were slim to none. But perhaps the Imp would be more sympathetic to her cause. If she could just talk with him, persuade him to hear her out, maybe he'd be willing to help. But all of her hope vanished when Podrick backed out of the room shaking his head.

A sense of defeat washed through her once he closed the door. If she was unable to persuade a squire, how did she plan on persuading a Lord? The defeat was quickly replaced with rage. The stupid boy should have jumped at the opportunity to help her. Afterall, she's more like him than any Lord he could serve, no matter how short or ugly that Lord might be. She'd bet Podrick Payne wasn't born in a castle and swaddled with silk sheets. There had probably been days when he'd had to go hungry. All she asked for was one simple favor, just a word or two passed on to Lord Tyrion, and he'd denied her that.

On an impulse, Adelia swiped up the closest object, which happened to be the full goblet of wine that he'd just placed on the table, and launched it at the closed door. The red liquid splattered across the wood and dribbled down to form a puddle on the floor.

She sank down to her knees and knotted her hair around the fingers, pulling a few strands out in the process. For a long time, that's where she remained. Her knees crushing against the hard stone floor, fingers digging into her scalp, angry tears threatening to stream down her cheeks. How in the seven hells was she going to get out of this?

Her mind raced through her options. Make a fast and hard run for it the next time Podrick opened the door? Knock him over the head, steal his clothes and walk out of the Red Keep dressed as a boy? Although a tempting thought, it was impractical. Her hair alone would give her away instantly. Adelia thought back to the Stark soldier who had crashed into in the tiny spare chamber a few nights ago. He had raced towards the window for an escape. Could that be her only saving grace now? Leap from the window and pray for a quick and painless death?

She rose from her knees and pattered towards the window. From this distance, the waves of the sea seems calm. But she knew that up close they were raging. It was that time of year. The time when the waters became angry and merciless.

Directly below the window, she could see the King's carriage surrounded by his guards as he left the castle. Sandor Clegane, the ever loyal dog, rode alarmingly close to the carriage's side door. It dawned on Adelia that out of all the people she had faced since stepping foot inside the Red Keep, the Hound had been the only one to help her. True, forcing her into the tiny abandoned chamber had ultimately landed her in this mess, but his intentions, she had come to realize, had been to keep her out of sight and harm's way. She laughed bitterly to herself at the irony of her revelation. And she would have continued to laugh like a mad woman had a knock at the door not interrupted her hysteria.

Her eyes glanced at the small circular table in the middle of the room. It was filled with her untouched breakfast and wine. Podrick would have no need to come back so soon.

"I've heard you wanted a word with me." a deep voice came tumbling through the wooden door. It was unfamiliar to her, but at the same time, unmistakeable.

Tyrion Lannister.

"Come in." she croaked out hesitantly. The door swung open and there he stood. The Imp. Her eyes widened, unsure of how to react to such a sight. She had imagined a grotesque and disfigured being. One that would give credit to the stories she'd heard since she was a little girl. But that's not what she was met with. He was small, yes, living up to the title of 'half man", but he was not the substance of nightmares. His body was disproportionate, his head a bit too large for his shoulders, his legs a bit too short for his hips. But all in all, he was no different from the imp beggars she had encountered in Flea Bottom. Albeit, better dressed and clean, but other than that he was no different.

"You asked for an audience, and so you have received an audience." He cast a quick glance at the goblet and spilled wine near the door, then met her eyes.

Right to business. Adelia mentally hardened herself.

"I have." she made sure to keep the false confidence in her voice. "And I thank you my Lord." she bowed, but he waved his hand for her to straighten. Unsure of what to say next (she hadn't been prepared for this meeting) she stood awkwardly as he took her in. His large eyes roamed her face with no shame, causing a blush to rise in her cheeks.

"You do bare an uncanny resemblance to our late King." he surmised after his study of her features. "What has my dear brother gotten himself into?" a small smirk crossed his lips as he shook his head.

"My Lord," Adelia jumped on the mention of the Kingslayer. "Your brother seems very keen to keep me locked away like a prize mare." She silently scolded herself for the frustration that leaked into in her voice. "I've tried to reason with him, but he…"

"Is a stubborn ass?" Tyrion finished her sentence with a raise of his eyebrow. He waddled over to the table and poured himself a glass of wine, then offered a glass to her. Though she'd prefer to keep a clear mind, she couldn't resist the strength she knew the wine could offer her. So she took it into her hand and gulped down half the glass with ease. When her eyes met the Imp's again, his large head was cocked to one side, a grin spread over his face. "I do believe I'll enjoy this much more than I had anticipated."

He pulled a chair towards him and sloppily jumped into it. Once he was settled, he motioned for her to continue.

"Ser Jaime," she spat out the title grudgingly, "believes that by keeping me here, he is doing me a great kindness. However, if the stories are true, your brother is nothing more than the bronze, and you are the brains. Which is why I asked to speak with you privately." she sweetened her voice. He took another sip of wine. "Surely you see the stupidity in this plan." she blurted out as he seemed unfazed by her words. "This is kidnapping. This is a crime. A punishable offense. Let me return home and I will speak of this to no one."

"Do you understand why you are here?" he asked with a hint of amusement.

"As I have said, your brother thinks that keeping me here is for my best…"

"No, has he told you _why_ he feels the need to keep your best interests in mind? Why he would bother with a bastard from Flea Bottom?" She flinched at his choice of harsh words but recovered quickly.

"He is interested in my… lineage." she said carefully.

"Let me see if I can clear anything up for you." he finished what was left in his cup and put it back on the table. "Our sister, Queen Regent, is a bitch." Adelia blinked in mortification at his direct insult to the Queen. "A cruel and jealous and greedy bitch." He smiled. "Jeoffry, our new king, takes after his mother. Now you do not strike me as a stupid girl, but I will still make this very simple. You are a direct threat to the King's throne. Do you think it's safe for someone who is a threat to the throne, a throne that belongs to a cruel, jealous, and greedy king, to roam the streets of King's Landing?Do you think for a second that said King's equally cruel, jealous, and greedy mother would allow it?" He did not wait for her to answer before continuing.

"No. it would not be safe." his brows furrowed as he became very serious. "As I'm sure my brother has informed you, our beloved sister will order that all of King Robert's bastards be disposed of. And believe me there are a lot of you scurrying around the capital. And I am sure she knows each and every one of your names."

"So why have you not made attempts to save the others?" Adelia spoke before he could go on. "Lock them all up. Banish them all from their homes. Save them all."

"You give me a list of names and I'll pick another to save." he laughed. "The truth is, I only need one of you." She narrowed her eyes in confusion. "You see, when my little rat of a nephew is done ruining the kingdom, someone will need to take his place. A war will break out for the throne, and that ends badly for everyone. Especially house Lannister. I'm sure you've heard the rumors of king's true parentage. So when the rest of the realm discovers that they are not mere rumors, they'll call for him to be dethroned. Millions will fight and die for the chance to plant their asses on the cold hard iron. It will be an absolute shit show." Tyrion was standing now and pouring himself another cup of wine. Adelia's mind was racing, keeping pace with her heart.

He had just told her what thousands of people suspected. The King was, in fact, NOT the true king. How could he be so candid about something so monumental. His voice had stayed calm, his tone normal. It was as though he was reciting a poem rather than confessing perhaps his family's most devastating secret. A secret that could not only get his sister killed, but his brother and himself as well.

"In case you still don't understand, you can be the person to stop that inevitable war." he raised one eyebrow again, waiting for her to understand. When she stared at him blankly he sighed. "More like Robert than I thought." His eyes rolled backwards before landing on her a final time. "As the trueborn child of Robert Baratheon, YOU have a rightful claim to the throne. The people will honor that fact, and those who don't will be brought down by your supporters. No war, minimal bloodshed, a rightful queen."

"You can't possibly think people would believe this." it was Adelia's turn to laugh.

"I do." he said flatly. "You have something that my niece and nephews do not."

"A title? Land? Money? Prestige?" she began rattling off and was prepared to keep going, but Tyrion spoke through her sarcasm.

"A birthmark."


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey everyone! So crazy that I haven't updated this story in months and I'm still receiving reviews and follows! It's so freaking motivating! Thanks for everything!**

 **BETTER LATE THAT NEVER!**

 **Enjoy the chapter!**

Jaime rolled over for the hundredth time. Sleep had been evading him for days, and the impossibly hard mattress in the Hand's tower did not help. He cried out in frustration and flung himself upright.

What had he gotten himself into? He should have kept walking when he'd heard the commotion in that little spare room. He should have let the guards bring Adelia to his sister. Let her take the girl's head. What did it matter to him? He'd already betrayed his king, he was already deemed an immoral knight. He shouldn't care.

But he did.

Not so much about the girl, but he cared about the kingdom. He cared about Westeros. He cared about his moral obligation as a knight, even though no else seemed to think he did.

Letting the girl die meant death for countless others before his son was finally stopped.

Unless he killed him first. But even as the thought came to his mind, Jaime knew it would never become a reality. He could not kill his own son. The pain he would inflict on his sister was too much to even think of.

Grudgingly, he pulled on his trousers (the same pair he'd worn the last two days), and draped his white cloak over his shoulders. Once his boots were laced, he made his way to the dining hall, where he knew he'd find his sister and children. But to his surprise, they were joined by one more. Sansa Stark, the great beauty of the North.

The girl sat, hands folded in her lap, to Jeoffrey's right. Her eyes stared blankly at the plate in front of her. Jaime had nearly forgotten about the Stark girls in all of the chaos. They seemed to be one short, unless the younger girl was locked up her with her irritatingly virtuous father.

"Uncle Jaime!" Little Tommen pushed his chair back and darted into Jaime's side, crushing him with his tiny arms. Jaime let out a fake howl of pain before the boy released him. As they made their way to the table, he took a second to look Sansa over. Though pale as any Northerner would be, her skin looked particularly sallow. He could just make out the beginning of a light bruise that peeked from beneath the collar of her dress. He looked from the girl to his son, his king, frustration growing in the pit of his stomach.

"My king." He greeted with a quick sarcastic bow, then turning to the red headed girl, "My Lady."

"Surely my Uncle will agree with me." Jeoffrey spat at his mother. Jaime had clearly interrupted a heated discussion. "Mother would have me let Ned Stark leave the capital with his head." Jaime had to force the bite of toast he'd just taken down with a quick gulp of water. "But I think it would send the wrong message."

"And the right message would be?" Jaime inquired, throwing a hesitant glance towards Sansa, who had no noticeable reaction.

"Displaying his head on a stick so the commoners know what fate befalls traitors under my rule." Jeoffrey said as he picked food out of his teeth with a fork. The way the child spoke of death, of taking a life of a well respected Lord with such ease reminded Jaime of Arys.

"And do you think the North would hear that message over their battle cries?" he asked, earning a confused look from the King. "Because that's all you will hear if you take the life of the Warden of the North. Don't be stupid."

Jeoffrey's ears turned red, his fist squeezing around his fork. He eyes hit his mother, expecting to find some type of reinforcement. But Cersei's gaze was focused solely on the food in front of her.

"I am the King!" he finally roared, slamming his goblet onto the wooden table. That earned a small flinch from his betrothed. "Anyone who takes up arms against me will be swatted down with…"

"With what?" Jaime laughed. "Your loyal army? Tell me, boy, how long will they remain loyal to you when you keep making decisions that put their lives needlessly at risk?"

"I am the true King! Who else would they owe their loyalties to?" Now it was Joffrey who laughed. Jaime spared a glance at his twin, whose head had perked up and whose eyes were now as big as saucers.

"Ned Stark was convinced that you were not the heir, Gods know how many others he tried to convince." she hissed. "We can not let the people have another choice in King." For a long moment, they sat in silence, waiting for something, though no one knew what that was exactly. Then, without warning, his sister lept to her feet and stormed out of the hall. Jaime followed, giving a small bow to the the Stark girl before hurrying after Cersei.

"Sister." he spoke to the empty hallway, unsure of which direction she took. But he heard her breaths (Or maybe the sound was in his head) and his feet turned left. "Where are you going?"

"What concern is it of yours?" she spat, rounding on him. Her yellow hair swayed over her shoulder as she whirled.

"You are my concern. Our family is my concern." Jaime spoke sternly, but his eyes were soft. His sister gave a callous laugh.

"Where have you been, sweet brother?" her smile terrified him. "My king husband dies, and you are nowhere to be found. My son, our son, is crowned king, and you are nowhere to be found. The Northern scum tries to humiliate our family and yet, you are nowhere to be found." She looked over her shoulder as a group of handmaids scurried across the corridor, and waited for them to disappear before continuing. "It's been days since our family has taken the crown and you have shown your face once."

"Cersei," he began but his words were drown out by the sound of her open hand connecting with his cheek. The sting was instant and fierce, causing his eyes to water.

"You are sworn to protect this family and you have not." for a second, Jaime could see the hurt on her face, but it was quickly replaced with anger. "So I will do what you can not."

He stood still as stone and watched the sway of his sister hips as she stomped away from him. Her words stung more than her hand. Had he truly failed to protect his family? He had spent time plotting to save the person who could tear them apart, while he should have been at his sister's side. She was his everything. His breath, his heart, his blood.

Every cell in his body told him to go to his brother, to call of this ridiculous plan with Robert's bastard. Their plan wasn't only a plot against the crown, but against his own precious sister. He couldn't let himself go through with it.

And yet, minutes later, he found himself standing before the door to his own chambers.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello again! Finally getting myself back into the swing of things. I've found a little extra time at the end of my days to get some writing in! Hope you guys enjoy this chapter.**

 **Quick recap since its been a while:**

 **Tyrion told Adelia that they want her to be Queen, because Joffrey sucks. Jamie knows that his kid is an ass and sort of agrees with Tyrion. Ned Stark is being help prisoner, and Cersei is, as always, a raging bitch.**

Adelia tried in vain to sleep that night, but it would seem that Tyrion's voice would forever echo in the back of her mind. Deep down, she knew he was right. It did not matter if she actually shared the same blood as King Robert, there was no test that could prove that. What did matter was the ghost's kiss; along with the uncanny resemblance they all spoke of.

They wanted her to be Queen.

The Lannister brother's wanted her to be queen over their nephew. Son?

It made no sense. It wasn't practical. And why hadn't the Kingslayer mentioned this?

Did he even know? Or was this Tyrion's scheme?

The questions bubbled around her head and forced her out from under the warm blankets. She began pacing in front of the bed, stopping occasionally to gaze out the window. Did her mother miss her?

Thoughts of her mother, once filled with love and happiness, now brought an unfamiliar anger to her chest. Maybe it wasn't anger, maybe it was the feeling of betrayal. Abandonment. Deceit.

The moon hung in the sky, a harsh contrast to the darkness of the night. It was full and bright enough to render the torches lining the streets below useless. Most of the buildings in the city were dark, the inhabitants fast asleep. Flea Bottom was, for this moment, the brightest part of King's Landing. Nearly all candles were lit, probably to ward off robbers and thieves. Or maybe because the people were too hungry for sleep Or maybe they had already starved to death before they could extinguish the flame.

How many times had she looked up at the Red Keep and envied those who were safe inside it's walls? How many times had she watched neighbors die from an illness that the healers in the Keep could have treated? Or watched them be tortured by the guards for stealing food to feed their children?

And how many times had the King offered help?

For a fraction of a second, Adelia let herself think of the good she could do as a queen. The things she would change if she had the power to do so. It lit a fire inside her heart, one that burned its way through her veins filling her completely.

She knew she wouldn't sleep, but she crawled back into the bed anyway, covering her shivering body with the furs. Her mind kept drawing back to the throne. The Iron throne that she had never seen in person, but could very well be seated upon in the future.

It was intimidating.

It was motivating.

The next morning, Adelia was surprised to find herself sprawled out across the bed, drool acting as glue and plastering strands of hair against her cheek.

She had slept.

And she had slept well.

Her body was already thanking her for the much needed rest. Muscles that had ached for days now felt loose, even her continuous headache had dulled.

She groaned, wishing that she had been able to sleep for a few more glorious hours. And really, what was stopping her. It wasn't like she was allowed to leave, to take a stroll around the castle, to stretch her legs with more than a walk from the bed to the window. So why not stay under the warm furs for the rest of the day?

But just as she had made up her mind, there was a knock at the door.

The sound jolted her from any thoughts of sleep. It was different from Podrick's usual light tapping. This knock was loud, strong, stern. She sat straight up on the bed.

It wasn't Podrick.

What was she supposed to do? What if it was the Queen? How would she explain herself? She opened her mouth to call out, but her voice was stuck in throat.

The knock came again, and this time the door opened along with it. Petrified and unsure of what to do, she slammed herself back against the mattress and brought the blankets to her chin. Forcing her breaths to come evenly, she feigned sleep, praying that whoever it was would mistake her for a whore that the Kingslayer had entertained the night before.

She heard the heavy footsteps thundering on the stone floor, coming nearer and nearer to the bed. There was no doubt in her mind that she'd been discovered. This was her end.

But nothing happened.

For a long moment she laid in the bed, pretending to be fast asleep while the intruder stood above her. She felt their presence, she was so aware of them by the bedside that she could almost picture their frame hovering over her.

"I know you're awake." he said softly. Adelia opened her eyes, she knew who it was without a second thought.

She sat up in the bed. He said nothing, but he stared down at her with an unamused glint in his eyes. That's when she noticed the redness of his cheek. "Were you in a fight?" she questioned nervously. If he had been fighting, that may not bode well for her.

"It's time for you to go." he finally stated after a lengthy pause.

"To the Wall." she blinked as she processed his words.

"No." he turned away from her and strode to the window, like she had done countless times over the last few days. "No, you just… need to leave."

"Wait." She hurried her way out of the bed. "Wait a second. Just days ago you were telling me it was too unsafe for me to…"

"And now I've changed my mind!" he boomed, spinning on his toes to face her. Adelia was so stunned by the swiftness of his movement that she jumped backward. The backs of her knees hit the bed and she stumbled back onto the mattress.

Jaime let out a frustrated breath and raked a hand through his golden hair. He met Adelia's eyes before he spoke again.

"Do you realize the predicament I'm in?" To Adelia it sounded as if he were pleading with her to understand. "By protecting you, I am betraying my family. I put them in danger. I put the crown in danger."

"I didn't ask you..." She shrunk back even further on the bed because with each word Jaime was bringing himself closer to her.

"I know what they are." he whispered. "I know what he is. I look at that boy and I see a man who burned thousands of innocent people to death." Adelia noticed his fingers had curled into fists. "But he is just a boy. He is my boy, and she… she is my sister. My… twin." he hesitated briefly. "So what am I supposed to do?"

Adelia leaned back on her elbows as the Kingslayer slowly closed the distance between them, leaving only inches. Fear slid over her like a blanket, covering her from head to toe. His voice, his eyes, his hands, they were all so tense. So filled in anger and confusion that she was unable to predict what he would do next.

"That question," he continued, "has been nagging and nagging at the back of my head. Do I slit your throat and be done with it?" Adelia's breath hitched. She felt utterly powerless beneath his gaze.

"Please don't…" she meant to say more, but her words were lost in her throat. Swallowed by the terror that gripped every cell of her body. She was trapped, there was no way to maneuver herself away from him.

"Or," he whispered "do I listen my irritatingly moral little brother and save you from my sister?"

His eyes bore down on her, drilling holes straight through her own eyes. She could see that he was searching for something, like an answer would magically appear on her forehead. When he didn't find what he was looking for, he mercifully pulled away. Adelia hadn't even realized she had been holding in a breath, but as soon as she had her space back she released a long huff of air.

Jaime had his back to her, his arms bracing his weight against the wall. She saw his body heave up and down with each breath he took, long and deep.

"I love my family." he finally said. There was a touch of finality to his tone, and it made the hairs on the back of Adelia's neck stand on edge. "I love my sister." He cast a glare over his shoulder. "But despite what the rest of the kingdom believes, I am an honorable man. And killing you," he traipsed over to the small chair in the corner of the room and plopped himself down with a grunt, "would be less than honorable."

"So you're letting me leave?" she asked in a barely audible whisper, still to terrified to really speak. His eyes found hers from across the room.

"Yes." he said after a long pause. "You need to leave." Something in his voice sounded unsure, like he wasn't sure if this was the right choice. But his eyes were hard and final.

Adelia nodded, relieved and terrified at the prospect of going home. Flea Bottom was an awful place, but at least she knew she belonged there.

"You need to leave." Jamie repeated. "Leave the Capitol." Her head snapped to attention.

"Leave the city?!" her voice cracked on the question. "Were in the seven hells would we go?" she still included her mother in her escape because, well because it was her mother. How could she leave her behind?

"Go North." He hadn't moved from the chair. His long fingers massaged the bridge of his nose, no doubt trying to ease a headache. "Go to Winterfell. Tell Eddard Stark who you are. He is an honorable man. He will protect you and your mother."

"Eddard Stark is locked up in the very dungeon of this Keep!" Adelia threw her hands up. Had he really forgotten that so easily, or did he just not give a shit? The later seemed more likely.

"He will be released today, and relieved of his duty as Hand of the King." Jaime's eyes were now shut and Adelia couldn't help but wonder if he had slept at all. "They'll send him back to the North."

"And what makes you think he'll believe me?" she knew she was pushing her luck. He could decide to stop entertaining her questions at any second. Or he could change his mind and keep her locked away.

Or he could decide she's more trouble alive.

"You've heard stories of the Starks?" he questioned. Adelia nodded but then remembered that his eyes were closed.

"Yes." she recalled the tales of the Northmen. Big and brony and honorable. Though she had never met anyone from outside of Flea Bottom until a few days ago, she had always thought she'd like to meet someone from the North. Anyone, just to tell if the stories she'd heard were true.

"They're true." it was as though he had read her thoughts. "The Northerners are, much like my brother, irritatingly honorable and moral. Ned Stark was Robert's best friend as boys. He will see your father in your eyes. He will know you."

His words seemed to calm her. At least she had a plan, a lead on where to run to. Adelia was nodding, mentally concocting a route for her and her mother to travel. The King's road was long, and without horses, deadly. Especially for two women.

"We'll need horses." it wasn't a question, and she didn't pose it as such. Rather she demanded it, and was quite proud of the forcefulness of her voice.

"I will see to it myself."

That was an easy victory, Adelia thought. Perhaps the King Slayer didn't have as much stamina as everyone thought. He looked thoroughly exhausted.

"Let me…" she was about to say pack her things, but she had come with nothing. Not even the nightgown she wore was her own. Her eyes scanned the room, but found nothing that she had any claim to. "Okay, should I just… go?" she asked hesitantly. It seemed odd for her to just walk through the castle. Especially after being told NOT to do exactly that for the last three day.

He nodded, eyes still closed. Perhaps he didn't really have a headache. Was it possible that he just didn't want to look at her? Like her sight would force him to change his mind again. She wondered, if that was true, was it for her protection or his?

Adelia looked from the knight to the door and back again. When she still received no response, she let out a deep breath and strode to the door. Just as her hand touched the wood, a thunderous knock erupted from the other side.

"Ser Jaime." A voice called out. "There's been a… disturbance in the square." he seemed unsure of what to say.

"What kind of disturbance?" Jaime's voice surprised Adelia with its close proximity. She hadn't even heard him rise from the chair. But now he was only inches behind her.

It took a moment for them to get a reply. But the one they got sent a cold shiver down Adelia's spine.

"Ned Stark is dead."


	10. Chapter 10

**Well it's been forever. Sorry the long ass wait!**

"Ned Stark is dead."

The words hit Jaime like a galloping horse. The Warden of the fucking North. Dead.

He was supposed to go home. Or at least to the Wall. What had happened? But before he even finished that thought, Jeoffreys face popped into his mind. He was no doubt behind this.

Jaime looked down at the top of the girl's head in front of him. She shook her head, refusing to believe it. After all, he had just presented Ned Stark as her last hope. That hope was efficiently snuffed out.

She turned her body towards him and her mouth opened as though she were about to speak. Knowing that the guard was still outside the door, he clamped a hand down over her mouth.

"Tell my sister I'll be out shortly." He called out to the grand oak door.

"Yes, ser." The man answered. Jaime waited until the receding footsteps were completely gone before he took his hand away from her.

"He's dead." She said flatly. He could see the haze of tears that began to film over her dark eyes.

"Yes. He's dead." Was all he could think to say. His mind was racing with potential consequences. Ned's eldest son would surely come crashing through the gates of the city for his revenge. The entire North would rally behind him without a second thought. No army in their right mind would stand loyal to a boy king who was more interested in pulling the wings off butterflies than his men's safety.

"Dammit!" He roared in frustration. From the corner of his eye he saw her jump in surprise and for some reason that infuriated him even more. Tyrion had been right. War was inevitable. "Get dressed." He spat, rolling his eyes in annoyance at her cautious stare.

"I don't... I don't have anything to change into." She admitted softly.

"Right. Well," he scanned over her. "Cover yourself with one of the blankets. It's cold." He nodded towards the bed.

"Where am I going?" She draped the furs over her shoulders. " to Winterfell?"

"Robb Stark will kill me on sight. " Jaime guzzled down a cup of wine before securing his sword to his belt. It looks like they were back at plan A. "The Wall is the safest place for you. At least for now." If he appealed to the Lord Commander perhaps it would work. She'd be better off there than Winterfell if war did indeed break out.

Perhaps it was best if Tyrion accompanied the girl. He had a way with words. Jamie mainly chose to speak with his sword, which would get them nowhere in this case.

Another knock at the door had the girl scrambling towards the bed. She ducked down, hidden from view of anyone at the threshold.

"Did you not hear me the first..." Jamie was growling as he opened the door, ready to spit fire at the guard behind the wood. But the words died on the end of his tongue when he found Bronn standing before him. "Well, this is convenient." He smirked.

"The little lord thinks it's time to move." Bronn said lazily. Jamie watched as his eyes scanned the room beyond the door, looking for the girl. "She run from the lion?"

"Come out." Jaime said over his shoulder and the girl lifted her head from the other side of the massive bed. For a long moment, Bronn simply stared at her. Jaime recognized the pity carved into his features.

"Your brother is meeting us at the stables." He suddenly said, snapping out of his little daze. "Now, while the city is in chaos."

"He knew this would happen, didn't he." Jaime realized that Tyrion had this plan set up from the start.

"He plans for the worst." Was all Bronn offered as an explanation. Jaime simply nodded and looked back at the girl, who was still half crouched by the bed.

"Either grab a blasted blanket or freeze to death on the Kong's Road." He rolled his eyes. "Women. They never listen." He smirked at Bronn, playing off his frustration.

"I have no shoes." Her voice was fragile now, and for the briefest of moments, Jaime felt badly for her.

"We'll get some on the Road." He decided. They didn't have time to waste. His sister would come searching for his soon. They had to leave. Now.

When she was close enough, Jaime took a hold of her wrist and led her through the door. Between himself and Bronn, he wasn't worried about coming across anyone who would date to question them.

The streets outside of the castle were like living things. Alive with movement and noise. Lucky for them, the bustle of people would help to kee them hidden in plain sight. The entire way, he kept his grip on her arm right, afraid to lose hold of her in the crowd. To his surprise, she did not fight him off.

As promised, his little brother was waiting for them in the stables. As he approached, he noticed that the girl's speed slowed to an agonizingly slow pace. He turned, ready to yell once again, but the look on her face took him aback.

She was in complete awe of the beasts surrounding them. It occurred to Jaime that she had never seen a horse up close in her lifetime. How could she? Knights don't make it a habit of trotting around Flea Bottom on their noble steeds. Her pink lips parted as she started up at the massive creatures with bright eyes.

"You'll have plenty of time admire on the road." He whispered, nudging her forward.

"Adelia," his brother greeted quickly. "glad to see you're still alive." He glanced up at Jaime. "I've three horses ready. I assumed our guest of honor was unversed in the art of riding."

As hurriedly as they could manage, Jaime led the girl his horse, a brilliant white stallion. Without giving her room for protest, he lifted her by the waist and all but tossed her on to the horse's back. He heard her give a small help of surprise before he gracefully threw his own legs over the saddle.

"Stop." He commanded when she began to wiggle as far forward as possible to avoid touching him. Jaime wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back to his chest. "Pull the blanket up around your head. Like a hood." He instructed. She glanced back at him, but did as she was told.

With Bronn and Tyrion behind them, they rode towards the gate. They were leaving the Capitol.


	11. Chapter 11

Adellia has never seen a horse before, let alone ride on one. Her arse aches and her back spasms periodically, but she refused to voice her pain. Surely the Kingslayer would have fun coming up with sly remarks that made her feel like even more of a peasant.

None of the men had said more than two words to her since they rode out of Kong's Landing. Although they weren't at a loss of words for each other. They tapped on and on about their war games, conspiracy theories, whores, and the newly appointed King Joffrey. Adelia didn't understand half of their words and so she receeded into her own mind for comfort.

She thought of her mother by realized quickly that would only bring her pain. She thought of Micah and instantly felt tears prick at her eyes. She thought of... nothing. There was nothing else she knew enough of to think about. How could her life have been so empty that we're no memories that could bring her joy besides those involving her mother and only friend?

Only when the smell of bread wafted to her did she realize they were slowing down.

"Oh thank Gods." She breathed, relieved to think of bathroom and of stretching her legs. But as she tried to dismount, which would have been less than graceful anyway, Jaime wove his arm around her once again to keep her rooted in place.

"Didn't you hear us?" He hissed in her ear. "Only Bronn goes in. They'll recognize the rest of us and we want no trail left in our wake."

"You. They'd recognize you, not me." She grimaced at the pleading tone in her voice. "I can go in."

"I don't teust hi to keep your lips shut." He all but snarled.

"So we're not sleeping here?" Her eyes caught sight of the small wooden sign that hung from the entryway. It was an inn. With beds, and bathrooms, and food. And they were going to ride on by?

"We have tents." She felt him shrug behind her.

"Oh yes, much safer than an Inn." She wondered if he could fee her eyes roll in annoyance. From behind her she heard a snicker. She'd forgotten that Tyrion waited outside with them.

"I've never met a peasant with wits like yours." He laughed from his belly as if it were the funniest thing he'd thought of in ages.

"People use tents all the time.l Jaime continued, ignoring his little brother.

"Yes, and people are attacked and eaten all the time." Her kind conjured up an image of the Stark family's wolves. Or at least what she'd been told they looked like. Black, thick fur, standing as tall on four legs as a human on two, eyes the color of blood. She shuddered.

"We'll manage." He said, indicating that the conversation was over.

Bronn returned with sacks of bread in both hands. He tethered them to his horse and they were off again.

The clear of her bottom screamed with every step the horse took and she bit her lips so hard to keep from crying out that she began to taste blood.

"According to the Inn Keeper, all seven hell's have burst loose in the capital." Bronn had informed them. "Hundreds dead, hundreds fleeing."

"They probably think you've been captured." Tyrion said to Jaime. "Stark men have whisked you off as prisoner to pay for the King's actions. To pay for The honorable Eddard Stark's death."

Even Adelia knew this wasn't funny. It wouldn't only add to the flames of war. But Tyrion laughed anyway.

Hours later as the sun dissappeared behind the trees, they stopped. Finally on the ground, she walked on wobbly legs and rubber her arse when everyone's backs were turned.

She watched Jaime and Bronn set up two tents while Tyrion struggled to get a simple fire started. She was half tempted to kneel and help him, but a small spark of resentment still boiled inside her. Though she understood, or at least she thought she did, why they had taken her from the city, she still was not over her anger.

Eventually, Bronn took over for his friend and the flames began lapping at the air. She sat close, soaking in as much heat as possible. The night dress she'd slept in the night before was still all she wore. And though it was long, it wasn't nearly enough to keep her warm. Why hadn't she noticed the chill that hung in the air earlier? Was it because the sun had offered enough heat? Now that it had set, had the cold stomped its way through the land? Or was it because her body heat mixed with the Kingslayer's on back of the horse?

A shiver rocked through her as she took another nibble of her bread. But she couldn't fool herself into eating. There had been a knot in her stomach since the previous night that prevented her from holding anything down. At least, she wasn't willing to risk it.

"You need to finish that." Bronn nodded towards the loaf that she'd placed on the log beside her. They were all circled around the fire, all eating their stale bread, all pretending like the cold wasn't numbing their fingers.

"I'm not hungry." She whispered, not wanting to draw too much attention from the other two men, one in particular. By it was too late, they were all watching her now.

"Too bad." Jaime said around a mouthful. "Don't be wasteful." Adelia took another bite to avoid another reprimand, but she spit it to the side when no one was looking. She didn't trust herself not to retch later.

"I think I'm just going to try and sleep." She said, hiding the rest of her bread up her sleve so Jaime wouldn't see that it was still unfinished. She'd throw it out in the early morning.

"There's blankets in the tents." Jaime spoke without looking at her. She nodded to no one and turned towards the closest tent. It was empty save for a large bear skin blanket, so she assumed the men's belongings had been put in their tent.

She snuggled herself down under the covers, leaving the half eaten bread in the corner. The bear skin was heavy and blocked out the cold air. Adelia tucked her face down so her nose was covered by the soft fur. That's how she slept, like a babe swaddled in blankets, warm and safe for the moment from the terrors of the outside world.

Until a rustling woke her.

She sprang up, her eyes searching wilding in the dark tent unable to see more than a few inches in front of her.

"Always so jumpy." Jaime's voice rang out in the black void. Why was he there?

"What are you doing?" She hissed breathlessly. Her heart pounded so loudly that she was sure he'd be able to hear it.

"Did you think you were going to sleep alone?" He said on a laugh. "So you could sneak off in the middle of the night?"

"Sneak off?" She backed herself up against the thin tent wall. Her eyes had started to adjust to the darkness and she could just see the shape of his body as he removed his boots. Did he plan on staying here? With her?

The realization settled over her, sending waves of fear through her body.

"You can't sleep here." She started to point out that it was inappropriate. That he was knight, a man of honor and this was anything by honorable. But he cut her off.

"As you liked pointing out the other day, I'm not exactly honorable." She could almost feel his smirk. "And besides, it would be dishonorable to leave you alone unprotected. It would be dishonorable to take you in the middle of the night." A lump formed in her throat. "But as I plan on doing neither of those things, I'm being as _honorable_ as anyone would expect."

He spit the last few words out with disgust and Adelia heard him slide down to the ground. She remained standing, well crouching, on the side, inside of what to do next. She couldn't possible sleep with him so close. She couldn't even close her eyes for fear of what he'd do when she wasn't watching.

"You have two options," he drawled lazily. Was this all one big inconvient joke to him? "Either lay down now, or, I can bind your hands and feet to ensure you don't run." He let out a long yawn.

"I'm not..." she trailed off not even sure how to argue. The fact that he thought she could run was ridiculous. In her nightgown and light night slippers she'd get nowhere. Not to even mention the fact that she had no inclination of where to go. "Where would I run to, exactly?" She asked sarcastically, trying desperately to make him understand how illogical he was being.

"I don't know what you're capable of." Another yawn escaped him. "I'm not going to touch you." He added,clearly sensing her fears. "So lay down and shut up."

She thought for a moment, weighing her options, which were expteemly limited. Either do as he says, or try to sleep sitting up in the corner with no blanket.

She opted for the corner.

"It's a long way to the Wall." He said after a few more minutes. His low voice startled her. She'd thought he'd fallen asleep. "It'll get colder, too cold for you to sleep over there without skins." He yawned again. "But suit yourself."

She had fallen asleep curled in on herself for heat when her breaths started coming faster and faster. Jaime was still, but not asleep. He knew he wouldn't fall asleep until he was sure she had. The last thing he wanted was for her to slip out while he slept and getting herself kill, or worse, on the King's Road.

Maybe he should tie her feet and hands.

The sounds she made from the nightmare in her mind were sad little whimpers. It reminded him of the noises Cersei had made as a child, right after their mother died.

He thought about waking her, but decided against it. Let her slay her demons in her sleep. Maybe then she can face them in real life.

He was perfectly content watching her struggle through the dream until her legs kicked out against the wall of the tent. She would bust right through it if he didn't put an end to it.

"Wake up." He said loudly, though obviously not loudly enough. Her whimpers grew louder and more urgent. Jaime sighed and scooted himself closer to her. "Hey, wake up." He reaches out and touched her shoulder. That was the key.

Adelia's eyes shot open, bouncing around frantically in search for a threat. Her arms instinctively came up to cover her face and her mouth opened as if to cry out for help. But before she could make a sound Jaime was shushing her.

"It's a dream. It's a dream." He repeated. Carefully, he wrapped his fingers around her forearm and pulled it away from her face. Perhaps if she saw his face she'd remember where she was. But, what if he was her nightmare? He quickly remembered pinning his arm against her throat in the corridor, he was sure he could see a bruise there if the sun were up. And the time he blatantly threatened her life. The time he nearly forced her to undress in front of him. With an awful knot in his stomach he realized he was most likely the monster of her dreams.

But when she did look at him, the room seemed to come into focus for her. She watched him, wide eyes and breathless, until slowly her breathing settled down.

"It was a just a dream." He said once more. She nodded and then flicked her eyes down to where his hand still rested on her arm. Quickly, she pulled away and balled herself back up.

Part of him thought to offer her the blanket, but he stopped himself. She knew where it was. And eventually, she'd come for it herself.


	12. Chapter 12

**Aaaannndddd... we're back. Sorry for any errors. I try to read over the chapters but sometimes my eyes miss the simple mistakes!**

The next two nights were annoyingly similar to Jaime. Each night they huddled around a fire. Each night she'd barely touch her bread or meat. Each night she'd fall asleep shivering in the corner.

He had no problem ignoring her chattering teeth and whimpers throughout the night. If she wanted to be stubborn and stupid, then so be it.

It was on their fourth day of riding that he felt the first soft flake of snow melt as it hit his cheek. They still had a few more days of travel before they were at the wall, and the snow would only get thicker and faster as they moved North. His spine shook at the thought.

Adelia cast a short glance over her shoulder at him, apparently startled by his body's shudder. Green eyes held... black? Brown? He couldn't decide what color best described hers.

A single flake landed on her long lashes before it dissolved. Her head tilted up towards the sky just as the flurry truly began. The white dust fell around them, disappearing as soon as it made contact with their skin, or the horses' fur, or the ground. He knew it wouldn't be long before the flecks clung to everything. Until all they could see was white.

"Pick up the pace." He said flatly, knowing that Bron and his brother were most likely in the same frame of mind.

"It's snowing." The girl whispered to no one. She stuck out her hand to allow a few more flakes to absorb into her warm skin. He could only see her profile, but the amazement was still obvious. He wondered how old she had been the last time they saw winter. Even so, snow in the capital was only a dream. The weather grew colder, the crops unable to bloom, but had snow ever actually fallen in King's Landing?

"Yes, it's snowing." He ground out irritably. Her awe was infuriating. Did she not understand how this complicated their already complex situation?

"Bronn remembers an Inn a few miles ahead." Tyrion said, riding up along side of Jaime's horse. "Maybe it's time we consider a room indoors."

"We'll be recognized." Jaime kept his voice stern even though he wanted nothing more than a bed.

"We're days away from the capital..." His brother began, but he quickly cut him off.

"And we are members of the most powerful family in Westeros." He pulled his horse to a stop, causing the girl to jolt in surprise. Her hand flew to his thighs on either side of her to steady herself and he hated the spark that ignited in his gut. "They will recognize us." He finished his thought smoothly, ignoring the fact that her hands remained on him.

"Yes, they probably will." Tyrion gave an exasperated sigh. "But by time word travels back to our dearest sister, it'll be too late. Well have made it to the Wall and be on our way home." He reasoned. And Jaime had to admit that he wasn't wrong.

But even so, she would demand to know where they had gone. Why they had gone. And who they had gone with. They'd be putting the girl's identity in danger, again.

The flakes fell quicker now, beginning to clump together and cover the frozen ground.

"I suppose we have no other option." He sighed in resignation. If the Inn had space, they'd take it.

As it turned out, two rooms remained unoccupied at the Inn according to the scraggly old man Bronn spoke to. Jaime felt the girl shifting in anticipation in front of him. She must have been as eager to dismount the damn horse as he was. For someone who had never ridden before, he had to admit that she hadn't complained once. He knew her bottom must ache to all hells from the hard saddle.

"The two are on separate ends of the hall." Bronn informed them after his conversion with the Inn's Keeper. He had become their designated spokesman since he was the least likely to be recognized.

"We'll take the one closest to the washroom." Jaime nodded as he took a key from Bronn. He felt Adelia's frustrated huff, but she didn't argue further. Bronn reached up and hooked his hands under her arms to lift her off the horse. Jaime watched as he kept her steady once her feet were on the ground. The girl's legs must have been asleep because she seemed unable to stand right away and clutched onto the front of Bronn's shirt.

Jaime led the horses to the stables while the other three went inside. It would be the first night in days that they would eat more than bread and rabbit.

The inside of the small wooden building smelled like broth and beer. It was a smell that warmed his chest and made his stomach gurgle as he located his companions.

"Ser," Bronn said sarcastically and he poured Jaime a much needed cup of ale.

"We need to plan for the aftermath." Tyrion said suddenly. Jaime couldn't help but notice that his brother did not have a cup in front of him. Strange and unusual. "Our dear sister will be furious when we return. We need to have an explanation prepared."

"Are you afraid of our darling Cersei?" Jaime chuckled at his brothers distress.

"All men should fear your sister." Bronn said between belches.

"I fear the chaos she will cause if she isn't handled properly." Tyrion's face was serious, his eyebrows drawn together in thought. "The kingdom is already at war, or surely will be when Rob Stark hears about his father's murder."

"It's not considered murder when it's the appropriate punishment for a traitor." Jaime took another pull from his cup. The girl, he noticed, hadn't touched hers. Instead, her focus was on a group of men in the corner of room. They were loud and rambunctious and obviously drunk. What was her preoccupation with these men?

"We all know this was murder, Jaime." Tyrion ground out through clenched teeth. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his brother this irritated. But days of hard riding will do that to a man. "Our new King is an absolute moron who's thrown Westeros into one big battleground."

Jaime nodded, even though it pained him to not defend his child. He knew what Jeof was. There was no denying it. If he could forget about the evil look in his sons eyes, if he could ignore the clear signs of madness, he would have left the girl in the castle to be discovered and hanged.

"Do you know those men?" Bronn finally asked Adelia the question on Jaime's tongue. Her eyes shifted nervously from the corner table and back to Bronn. He could sense the unease she felt.

"No." She said softly. "But I believe they know you." She cast a short glance to Jaime. "They whispered your name as you walked through the door. But, perhaps it was just a trick of my own ears." She added squeakily. The three men all turned to get a closer look at the back table. It's occupants didn't seem to notice their stares, nor did they give any sign of caring about who else was in the room.

"Well, they seem disinterested enough." Tyrion said calmly. "But we'll keep an eye on them." He added hastily as not to offend the girl.

Not long after their stomachs were full and heavy with chicken and rice the four of them decided it was time to retire. Although for Bronn, that meant finding a young serving girl to cozy up with by the hearth. For the rest of them, it meant making the trek up the narrow stair case to the long hallways of rooms.

Tyrion disappeared into his own room, walking unusually straight. Jaime was so used to watching him stumble around after dinner that he forgot how odd his little brother looked walking sober. His stunted legs and shortened spine made his walk more a waddle.

Jaime was grateful that the girl made no complaints when he followed her into the last room on the floor. The room, if you could call it that, was barely large enough for the bed, leaving no space for a table or chair. But that didn't bother Jaime in the least. His eyes remained locked on the flimsy mattresses as if it were the finest whore he's ever seen. Without giving it another though, he let his tired body crumble into it and his limbs began to throb almost immediately with relief.

"I'm going to use the washroom." Adelia's voice startled him. He had nearly forgotten about her! Jaime couldn't care enough to protest. She wouldn't run, not now that they were so far from her home. And if he was being honest, he knew that sharing a room with her wasn't necessary.

So why was he here? In a room that she would return to? In the bed he knew she would have to sleep in?

What was he doing?

Just as the thought crossed his mind, the door opened again. He'd be dosed off or was she that quick in the bathroom?

"That was fast." He smirked into the pillow before lifting his eyes to peer at her.

But she wasn't alone.

A large man towered over her from behind, a rusty blade at her throat. He recognized him instantly. Long greasy blonde hair. A nose so crooked there was no possible way to breathe through it. That's what made him so memorable. That's what made his stand out from the rest of his comrades who'd been at that back corner table.


	13. Ch 13

**Thanks for loving Adelia even though I go radio silent every once in a while. Writers block is a real bitch.**

Adelia made her way to the small bathroom down the hall. Her footsteps were quiet and slow as she took her time. She intended to soak up every second she could of her "freedom" from the Kingslayer's watchful eyes.

But her alone time was short lived.

A large burly man stepped in front of her path. She hadn't the slightest idea where a man his size could have possibly hidden himself from her. He had seemingly come out of nowhere.

"Well you're a pretty one." He said through rotten teeth. "No wonder the Kingslayer keeps you close." His hand wrapped violently around her wrist and tugged her toward him. His free hand groped at her bottom and a low, animal like groan left his throat.

Adelia shoved herself away from him, but his grip was like a vice that kept her chest smashed against his.

"Imagine the praise and profit I'll be given when I bring Jaime Lannister and his bitch to Rob Stark's door." He smiled again and Adelia nearly gagged from his putrid breath. With incredible ease, he spun her around and pulled a long rusty knife from his belt. His The cool metal pressed angrily against the skin of her throat.

"I'm surprised though," He snickered, a rough hand trailing down Adelia's stomach. "you're not his type. I hear he likes them tall and blonde and bitchy." His fingers began drawing up the hem of her nightgown, gathering the fabric in the palm of his hand. She reared her head back, hoping to hit his chin, but instead slammed it against his chest. If she tried to run, her throat would be slit by the knife.

She opened her mouth to scream but he just pressed the knife harder. A small drop of blood trickled down her neck.

"He warned me that you were a fighter." He grumbled into her ear before taking a handful of her chest and squeezing so hard that she couldn't stop the cry that burst from her mouth. Maybe someone would hear it and come to help. But she wasn't that lucky.

"Stop playing with her." Another man growled from the dark corner. She hadn't even noticed him before he spoke. Her attacker growled but gave her quick bump forward with his hips.

"Walk." He commanded. His voice left her paralyzed with fear. He forced her back to the room she had come from. The room where Jaime laid sprawled across the bed.

The Kingslayer mumbled something inaudible into his pillow before finally looking their way. His eyes widened when he realized that she wasn't alone, and she watched the recognition cross his features when he realized who the man was. She had recognized him as well. He'd sat at the corner table with the other seemingly drunk men. Apparently, they hadn't been drunk at all.

"Get up." The man with the knife spit, saliva speckled the back of her neck.

"Can I help you gentleman?" Jaime said carefully, his hand creeping along the mattress in search of his weapon. It must have fallen off his belt when he collapsed onto the bed. "I believe the whore house is around back." His eyes barely skimmed over Adelia. She realized he was pretending not to know her.

"We know she's yours." The second man, who must have been standing behind Adelia and the man with a knife to her throat, croaked out. "She's the one we came for before we realized how much more we could make by hauling your ass to Winterfell."

Jaime's lips tightened at the threat. "I can promise you that whatever you think you'll get from this, I'll double it."

"I don't think so, Kingslayer." The venom in the mans words was palpable. Adelia felt his hand on her belly again. Bile rose in her throat as he pressed her back into his erection. "We'll get gold AND glory from the Starks. And we'll sell this one here to the highest bidder." His tongue ran along the side of her neck up to her ear. "I'll bet my life that she's worth more than he let on."

Someone had paid them to do this. They'd been hired to bring her to someone. But who?

"I'll double it again." Jaime's voice was quiet and stern. She saw something in his green eyes that she couldn't recognize. His features, usually so calm and collected, were now contorted with rage. Threatening him was a huge mistake.

"Hhhmmmm" the man with the knife pretended to consider. Then he quickly took another handful of Adelia's chest and laughed when she gave a small yelp. "I think we'll take our chances."

The man that stood behind them made his way passed the threshold and into the room. Jaime smoothly popped himself up off the bed, sword in hand.

"Do you truly think you can win this fight?"Jaime said with a sly grin. Adelia could tell that the challenge thrilled him.

"That's where she comes in." The man with the knife said, pressing the blade a little deeper into her flesh and drawing more blood. She took in a sharp breath, sure that this would be her death. Would it hurt to bleed out? "You come after us, we go after her."

"I don't think you understand." Jaime ground his teeth together. "I'm not the one you should worry about."

He lunged at the man in front of him at the same second the man holding Adelia let out a loud gurgling of pain. She felt something sharp slide along her hip and sting her skin. Her eyes flicked down to find the blade of a sword sticking out from the mans side. The usually silver blade was covered in bright red blood.

His blood.

The blade disappeared back inside of him and out of her sight. His grip on her released and the knife he held to her clattered to the floor. Once the man was on the ground, new hands wrapped around her shoulders and yanked her from the room.

"Don't move." Bronn forced her eyes to meet his as he spoke. She nodded and kept her back presses against the wall behind her. The sounds from the fight in the other room did not last long. Did anyone really stand a chance against the Kingslayer?

Her hand wondered down to her hip, where dark blood stained her dress. She didn't think it was that bad, just a cut. In fact, what hurt the most was her breast where the man had grabbed her. An ache had spread across her chest. Surely it would bruise.

Jaime emerged from the bedroom seconds later. He strode towards hers quickly, wiping a few drops of blood from his lip.

"We need to go." He said hastily. "Are you hurt?" His eyes scanned over her, stopping at her neck and side where he saw blood.

"I'm fine." Adelia thought it better to lie than to waste time explaining to Jaime the strange pain she was feeling. "Are they dead?"

"Yes, but..."

"Good." She nodded, surprising both him and herself. When did she become this cruel?

"There could be more. We have to leave."he finished his thought, watching her carefully. When she didn't move, he let his fingers close around her her forearm and gently tugged her towards the stair case. She followed without protest, unsure of what else she could do.

"I'll bring the horses 'round." Bronn offered breathlessly. He sounded as though he'd just run a mile... or killed a man. Jaime nodded and continued to pull her along as he walked briskly through the Inn.

Tyrion came bounding down the stairs after them, his short legs nearly tripping on each step. Lucky for him, he had missed all the action. He'd be dead if the men had seen him. They could have thrown him into a wall and split his head with ease he was so small.

"Stay with Tyrion." Jaime gave her arm a small squeeze, just to make sure she heard him, and then turned to the left. A rock dropped into her stomach. She couldn't understand why, but dread started to fill her from her toes to the ends of her hair. She felt it in every cell of her body.

Stay with Tyrion? He had said it himself, there could be more men after them! Was Tyrion supposed to stop them? Was he supposed to protect her?

Adelia silently chided herslef. _Do not depend on any of them to protect you. Do it yourself._

Come Adelia." She felt Tyrion's hand on her arm and jumped at the unexpected contact. She hesitantly followed him out of the building and into the darkness outside. Each step took her further from the fireplace and closer to the cold winter air.

Bronn waited by the door, three horses at his side. Tyrion's horse had a pair of long metal legs attached to the saddle. She idly admired the craftsmanship and creativity that went into building such a contraption.

She stood by her and Jaime's horse, not quite sure how to get on without him to lift her. But before she could think too hard about it, Bronn was behind her offering his help.

Adelia decided that she liked Bronn. His hands were strong, but never hurt her. He was quiet, and though he was rude and callous towards his friends, he was kind to her.

"Where's your brother?" He asked Tyrion after Adelia was securely in the saddle. As if on que, Jaime came striding out of the Inn. In his hand, a pair of riding boots and a long off white dress. The trim of the dress was stained brown, probably from years of walking through dirt and mud. But nonetheless, he threw it over her lap and eased himself into the saddle behind her.

"Let's go." He commanded, and the tree horses moved into the night.


	14. Chapter 14

They rode for what felt like hours. The dim light of the moon was the only guidance they had along the road. It's a wonder the horses didn't trip and break a leg! Adelia couldn't help the exhaustion that rolled over her body in one long sweep. Once or twice, she felt her muscles go slack as she dozed in and out of consciousness. But she jolted awake as soon as she felt held fall back into Jaime's chest.

The last time it happened, Jaime slipped an arm around her waist pulling her back towards him.

"Sleep." His voice was stern and yet there was a strange softness to it. His touch made her more uncomfortable than usual. Perhaps because she could still feel the imprint of her attacker's fingers at her chest. She tried to shift without him noticing, but he was quick to catch on. He dropped his arm.

"I'm not tired." She lied.

"You're tired. And stubborn." He whispered. He sounded tired himself. "And you're hurt." She didn't gratify him with a response, but he continued to speak regardless. "You haven't stopped squirming since we mounted. Which tells you either need to use the restroom or you're uncomfortable."

"I'll manage." She forced the words to be true and tough. But in reality, her leg with the cut had started to throb relentlessly.

"No doubt that you will." He yawned. Bronn and Tyrion were a ways in front of them. She could just make out the silhouette of their horses in the dark. "But the fact still remains, you're exhausted." This time his hand pressed against her shoulder and carefully pulled her backwards. "Sleep."

She listened to him this time, letting her head rest against his collarbone. Her eyes closed and she soaked in all of his body heat. With the dress still lying over her legs, she was as warm as she could hope to be in the freezing cold.

When she woke, it was to Jaime handing her down off the horse into Bronn's waiting arms. They were finally stopping. Jaime must have decided they were far enough away from the threat of danger. When he noticed her open eyes, Bronn set her down on her own feet.

"How long was I asleep?" She asked as she smoothed out her hair.

"Only an hour or so." Jaime groaned as he dismounted. She realized that they were further into the woods than they normal were when they made camp. That must be so that no one passing on the road can see them.

They set the tents up quickly and she crawled into the shelter without a second thought, Jaime following right on her heels. While she had taken in a few extra minutes of sleep, he had not. And that showed on his face. His eyes had dark circles underneath that made his green irises seem more of a muddy brown. His skin was gray and sickly and his movement sluggish.

"Do you plan on freezing tonight?" There was an irritated hint to his voice. She thought carefully about her answer. If she said yes, she'd have to stick to it. Her pride wouldn't let her go back on her words. But saying no also meant something more. It meant that she'd accept sharing a bed, or in this case furs, with him. With the Kingslayer. She could always resume her position in the corner and curl up with the new dress. It would offer some sheild to the cold.

Her mind thought of how warm Jaime's body had felt against hers on the horse. She could have that again. She could have that warmth throughout the night.

Jaime was shaking out the thick furs from the bag. They were gray. Wolfs skin.

"No." She finally whispered. If he was surprised by her answer, he didn't show it. She wasn't even sure that he'd heard her until his eyes met hers for a brief second. He took his time removing his boots and top coat before sliding in under the blanket.

He rolled over and mumbled something before his breaths turned heavy and even. She couldn't be sure but it sounded like "I won't touch you."

She laid down beside him, leaving a good foot of space between their bodies, and pulled the furs over her shivering body.

But she didn't sleep.

Her mind was consumed with thoughts of the men at the Inn. Their stench, their brute strength, their words.

"Someone sent them for me." She said, suddenly remembering. "They'd said they'd been told I was a fighter." She mimicked the man's drawn out words.

"I know." Jaime said into the furs. "But we don't know who, so go to sleep."

"I know who." Her voice was a mere whisper. "Baelish." At first, the Kingslayer said nothing, and again she wasn't sure if he'd heard her. But suddenly he rolled over.

"And what makes you think that?" He asked. The space between them seemed to have disappeared, leaving only a few inches between their noses. The last time his face had been that close to Adelia's, he was threatening her life back at the castle. Did he remember that moment too?

"He tried to take me away once already." She somehow found the words. "He chased me through the castle halls and pricked me with a sleeping drought. When I woke.." she didn't have to continue. He had been there when she woke. He had forced her to show him the Ghost's Kiss. The same mark that Lord Baelish had found on his own. She shuddered.

"Yes," he nodded slowly "I suppose you are right." His eyes stayed on hers. "He wants you for himself."

"He wants me to be queen?" The notion still sounded absurd.

"I don't know what he wants." He shook his head. "He already has my nephew eating out of the palm of his hand. I see no advantage for him in a change of power. Unless it's less about the power and more about, well, you."

Adelia wrinkles her nose in confusion. A common girl? A lowly seamstress? What could anyone want from her?

"Royal blood or not," he paused for a breath "you are very intriguing for a commoner." He explained. It took a few moments for Adelia's innocent mind to catch up.

"He wants me for a wife? For a play thing?" Her voice came out louder than intended. Jaime only raised an eye brow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "You find this amusing?"

"I find you, and your reactions, amusing." A full smiled graced his usually stoic features. It was hard for Adelia to maintain her anger when she saw it.

"Oh, so I'm both amusing AND intriguing then?" She huffed.

"Yes." He replied without hesitation. She opened her mouth for a retort, but it caught in her throat when she realized that he was complimenting her. His playful smile, now a serious tight line. As if he were angry with himself for his easy agreement.

 _Mustn't be too kind to the peasants now_. She thought in annoyance. And on another huff of air, she rolled away, facing her back to him.

Jaime woke when the first drops of light peirced the tent. Though he did not open his eyes, he could sense that the air around him was fridged. But he was warm under the furs.

He felt the body next to him, and his first instinct was reach towards her. To bring her nearer. To take in the scent of her hair and skin. To let his fingers graze every inch.

And so he did.

His hand calmly came to rest on her side, coaxing her back. It took some encouragement, but even in her sleep she couldn't ignore him. Her body fit into the curve of his so perfectly. He let his hand rest idly on her hip and he took a long breath. She smelled like...lemons... not the rose oil he was so used to.

His eyes shot open. This wasn't Cerscei. This woman next to him was not his.

He roled away, clenching his teeth at his own idiocy. When he looked back, she was starting to stir. He watched her rub her eyes, her hair matted to hell around her round face. Even so early in the morning, she had a light flush on her cheeks.

"Morning." He said gruffly, still trying regain his control.

"Good morning." She said through a yawn. He could tell that her mind wasn't quite awake. Usually she would scurry away, afraid of his close proximity. He watched her eyes bob open and adjust to the sunlight. There was something quite peaceful about her in those short waking moments.

He'd been staring for too long and scrambled for something to say to hide it.

"How do you feel?" He thought of the blood staining the middle of her dress. Bronn had knicked her when he drove the sword though the mans abdomen. Her neck had been cut as well, but it was a small scratch.

"Fine." She lied. He could see it in her dark eyes. The pain was there, and it was not fine.

"We should clean that." He eyes lingered on her stomach. "Or I'd fear infection." His hand automatically raised to the side of her neck with the short line of dried blood. "This, however, seems harmless."

The girl flinched back from his hand and he paused briefly, his hand stranded in midair. But when she showed no signs of retreating any further, he allowed his fingers to touch the side of her neck, just above the blood. He left them there, against the soft, warm skin underneath. Her eyes shifted downward to her lap. Was she fearful, or embarrassed by the touch?

"Once you're at the Wall, no one can hurt you." He said firmly. Finally, she met his gaze. Her own hand came up to wrap gently around her forearm, pulling his hand from her face.

"Except for anyone at the Wall." She pushed herself up onto her feet and left him sitting alone in the middle of tent. His arm on fire from her touch.


End file.
